The Last Banquet
by JanuarySunflowers
Summary: What does snow become when it melts? How does one face the reality of an impossible, cursed love? When will the world lose the lonely feelings found in every pocket of silence? The three oldest members of the Sohma family zodiac each wear a mask: one of ice, one of noise, and one of sly cunning. How else can they survive the family that threatens to crush them?
1. Year of the Snake: Ayame Sohma

Year of the Snake: Ayame Sohma

February 7, 1972

**Curse (noun)**: a solemn utterance intended to invoke a supernatural power to inflict harm or punishment on someone or something

**(Warning: this chapter contains teenage pregnancy, some crass language, a semi-graphic scene of childbirth, morally questionable protagonists, and creepy manipulative relationships. Please don't feel obligated to read if any of these things make you uncomfortable!)**

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Juuri Sohma hated "those" girls. Her high school was full of them—squealing, eyelash-batting girls ranging all sizes and ages. They were easy to identify by the names doodled onto their school supplies and the hearts in their eyes. There was just something so _tacky _about the entire affair—the whispered glances and extra effort, the mascara slipped into socks despite school regulations, and the skirt rolled up several extra inches at the waist to show a little more thigh. The type of girl who believed in love.

Unlike "those" girls, Juuri never made love. She _fucked_. Her body was a weapon—a spectacular tool made of long, pale limbs and heavily-lidded blue eyes, and she kept it in pristine condition as one might polish a knife blade. She chose her victims carefully: the wealthy and the stupid. They provided all sorts of things for her—information, and power, and spending money without the regulations that came with the banks supported by her family. They were the arms which she held at prominent social gatherings, and they were the hearts she ground out once she'd gotten full use out of them. "Men," her mother had taught her at a young age, "are simple creatures. Let them believe they are invulnerable and they will give you the tools to their own destruction."

Unlike the boys—and eventually, men—she targeted, Juuri remained intact at each parting. She left nothing of herself behind save for several well-concealed love bites and a lingering whiff of her perfume on 20,000-yen pillows. Not one of them made even the slightest impact on her—not once, not until _him_. If ever she was asked, she would deny it forever. She would insist his name had long since fled her mind, and laugh at such a foolish notion that he would ever cross her thoughts. But Juuri Sohma was good at lying. The truth, buried under layers of time and money, was this: she had cried when he left. Angry tears, perhaps; bitter, frustrated ones, but tears nonetheless. She had been caught at her own game, and unlike her, the thin stick with the tiny pink 'plus' sign was no liar.

Her mother caught her several weeks later kneeling before the toilet, retching up whatever remained of last night's shark fin soup, and somehow she _knew_. "You're _pregnant_?" she asked, aghast. "Juuri, you've barely turned sixteen! You bring such shame to the Sohma name!"

Juuri stood up from the toilet, flushed, and dutifully began brushing her even, white teeth in the basin of the sink. She wondered calmly if she'd caught a cold, as her nose felt stuffed up and her silk nightie clung to beads of perspiration on her skin. Being pregnant was most unattractive, radiant glow be damned. "I need to pay next month's deposit on the class trip," she told her mother, using a damp cloth to wipe her face. The cool water felt nice on her flushed skin. "Do you think that could be arranged with the main house?" She turned her face from side to side, admiring her reflection in the mirror. _I need to touch up my roots again_, she thought in dismay, seeing the darker hairs sprouting underneath the platinum blonde.

"You can't be thinking of going on a school trip now!" Juuri's mother spat, agitated, following her daughter down the hall and to her bedroom. Juuri stood in front of her expansive wardrobe, pondering, and finally selected a backless, turquoise blue dress that fell to mid-thigh and a pair of white kitten-heels. She shimmied out of her pajamas and dressed herself, knowing and not caring that her mother's eyes raked over her belly and breasts, searching for any noticeable swelling.

"Braid my hair up for me, will you?" she asked, fanning herself. "It's sweltering."

"What are you going to _do_?" her mother moaned, burying her face in her hands. "What will your father say? What will Lord Akira say?"

Juuri turned around, took her mother's wrists, and pulled her hands away from her face. She looked in her mother's eyes and said with the brightest smile she could muster, "dear mother, _I don't care_."

_I don't care_. That was the mantra Juuri lived by in the months to come. When her father shouted at her, when the girls in her school snickered at her behind well-manicured hands, and as, one by one, her friends left her with rolled eyes and snorts of disgust. Through doctor's appointments and horse-sized vitamins and steadily sorer feet, her smile remained in place and didn't crack once until, finally, the button on her school uniform refused to snap.

Her smile was carefully centered when she ascended the steps to her campus bookshop, clutch purse in hand. "Good morning, Tanou-sensei," she greeted the shop owner. "I'll be needing a larger uniform for the upcoming semester."

The older woman looked her up and down, settling at once upon the teenager's engorged stomach. "Hmmph," she said. "I suppose you think they'll let you keep coming to school with _that_?"

Juuri's smile felt frozen, for just a moment. "Why, whatever do you mean, Tanou-sensei?" she asked, her tone sliding, ever-so-slowly, from _sweet _to _dangerous_.

"I mean," the woman said, ignoring the warning signs, "that this is a high-class school your parents fork over good money for. You think they'll put up with trash like you? You might as well empty your locker now, chickadee; your days here are over."

All sweetness had abandoned Juuri's voice then. She stepped forward, slow as a viper preparing to strike. "Dear Tanou-sensei," she clucked, shaking her head. "I don't suppose you know who I am, do you." Her stare was intense and she knew it; she had employed it in the past whenever she needed to make the other party squirm. "I am a _Sohma_. I presume you know what this means?"

Tanou's expression of haughty disdain convinced the teenager that she did not. She approached ever closer. "I'll have you know," Juuri said, her voice very quiet now, but each syllable carefully articulated to an effect of great menace. "That the Sohmas run this country, madam. We have our thumb in every major cooperation in Japan. Sixty percent of the country's annual revenue flows directly through our veins. You think my school tuition is 'good money'? I could shit more money than that in one go. We own this country, we own this school, and technically," she was so close now she could have counted the other woman's eyelashes, "we own _you_. So if I were you I'd be careful who I said such things to, in the future."

A throat cleared just behind her, and Juuri turned around to see the school's headmistress' stocky frame in the doorway. "Good morning, Sohma-san," she said. "You're looking well today."

Juuri's smile was back in place as she bowed. "It is morning, Hashimoto-sensei," she said, "but not a good one, I'm afraid. I believe you should put more consideration into who you're hiring the next time you conduct a position interview. As it is, I'm afraid I can no longer attend such a poor excuse for a school."

"Sohma-san?" the headmistress questioned, sounding anxious. "I hope you don't mean what you're implying. Tanou-sensei will of course be immediately terminated for her offense-"

"Oh, but I do mean it," Juuri said, taking great satisfaction in her words. "In fact, I'll be having a lengthy discussion with the head of my family on whether or not this school will be allowed to continue running. It is against a Sohma's nature to take such disrespect. Good day to you." She bowed again and left the building, walking as quickly as her swollen ankles would carry her.

Flowery words, a dark stare, and a sharp bite; that was Juuri Sohma. Some days it seemed as if her honeyed lies were all that was keeping together. _Speak with the head of the family_; she could have laughed at herself for that. As far as she knew, there was no true Akira Sohma. He was whispered of in every house bordering Sohma property. "Lord Akira wants you to eat your vegetables," "Lord Akira will be very sad if you hit your brother again." Nobody she spent any time with had ever seen him.

It was seven months to the day of her last period when it happened. She was seated at her desk pouring over her textbooks—stubborn as a mule, she was determined to graduate on her own—and a deluge of water started pouring out between her legs. "_Aah_," she moaned, tears springing to her eyes. She wasn't wetting herself; it was far more than that. Hot liquid gushed down her thighs, and her stomach suddenly started to feel very tight and hot. "M… _mother_! Mother!"

There was no answer. Standing and trying hard not to slip on the puddle of her own fluid, she waddled to the kitchen. Nobody was there, and a note read simply, _out shopping—be back soon_.

"Fuck!" Juuri swore. "_Aah_…"

It was too soon—it was _wrong_. It was early February; every doctor she'd encountered had promised her an April birth. A contraction seemed to swallow her up until she was gulping like a fish for air, tears coursing down her face. As it passed, she reached a trembling hand to the telephone and dialed the number for the main house. As always, one of the maids answered.

"Please help me," Juuri wept now, not caring how childish she sounded. "I'm going into labor and I'm all alone."

"Please list your exact residence."

Juuri buried her face into her arms and sobbed loudly when another contraction seemed to set fire to her spine. The maid was waiting patiently for her on the line as she came down from it. "Juuri Sohma. Road thirteen, house four… _Aah_!"

This, too, seemed to be wrong. Nothing in any of the textbooks she had read had said anything about serious contractions so close together immediately after water breaking. "Please hurry—I think I'm miscarrying. It's two months too early and I'm in so much pain…"

The maid inhaled a sharp gasp of air. "Two months," she asked quietly, intensely. "You're certain."

"Yes, yes!" Juuri screamed, falling onto her back and heaving. Something was pushing itself at her entrance. "It's coming, hurry dammit!"

"Right away."

As the click of the disconnected call reached her ear, she threw the phone aside and focused on her breathing. What had the books she'd read recommended? Through the teeth, two sharp inhales and one long exhale? She tried it. _Two-two, one. Two-two, one._

It seemed an eternity before there was a cursory knock at her door; whoever it was seemed to already have a key, and they let themselves inside. A tall, broad man wearing a lab coat entered, and behind him waddled a much shorter woman with a belly almost as engorged as Juuri's.

"Juuri?" the man called, loudly enough that his voice echoed through her house.

"In here," she said weakly. She'd stripped off her soggy panties and skirt, hoping that by freeing her legs it would hurt less. It didn't.

"Hello," the woman said, walking quickly towards her where she was huddled, partially underneath the kitchen table. "We are Lord Akira's personal physicians."

The man bent down, nearly smacking his head on one of the chairs, and slid his arms underneath Juuri, holding her easily before placing her on the center of her table. He lifted her bare feet, one ankle at a time, and placed them on his own shoulders. The woman hurried to the kitchen and dropped a pan on the stove to heat water.

"I can already see the head, Satomi," the man called to his partner. "This'll be a straight shoot from here."

Abandoning her pan, Satomi scuttled back to the table. She pressed her hand against Juuri's cheek; it was very cool against her fevered skin. Juuri looked up to meet the older woman's eyes.

"She's only a kid, Keiichi," Satomi said, looking worried.

"It's fine, love," the man replied distractedly. "Just a little…"

"_Aah_!" Juuri screamed, feeling as if she were being torn in two. Dimly she became aware of hands at her vagina, and she felt a very distinct _pulling _sensation.

"Shoulders, dear!" Satomi said enthusiastically. "That's the worst part."

"Breathe with me, Juuri!" Keiichi said, taking her hand in his massive one. "Come on." He brought her into a rhythm. Her head thrashed in pain from another contraction, her left ankle dropping from the tall shoulder to rest on the table. She pressed her foot, hard, against the wood for added pressure.

"It's done," Satomi whispered into her ear. "It's all over."

A very faint wail reached Juuri's ears, and she lost consciousness.

When she came to, she was dry, and lying on a much softer surface. Her bed. Her body felt completely numb besides the pressure in her arm; an IV was taped into place at the crook of her elbow.

"2.73 kilograms," a man's voice said. There was a scratching of pen on paper. "41.18 centimeters. Stool: normal. Breathing: normal."

"Is he an albino?" a woman's voice asked. "Or…"

"Don't get your hopes up, Satomi. There's no need to get all excited; it most likely isn't…"

"Albino?" Juuri asked, lips parched.

"Oh, good. You're awake," Keiichi said. He approached her bed. "Don't mind the IV; that's just to rehydrate you, and to also introduce some pain-numbing agents to your system. I had to put in a few stitches."

Juuri cringed thinking just _where _those stitches must be.

"Would you like to meet your new son?" Satomi asked. "He's very healthy."

"Absolutely," Juuri said, masking her nervousness with more difficulty than usual.

"Now just hold on a minute," Keiichi protested, looking nervous. "Here." He held a cup with a straw to Juuri's mouth, and she sipped what tasted like pure apple juice. "Let's finish the birth certificate first. Have you decided on a name already?"

"Ayame." Juuri was decisive as ever. She had anticipated her baby to be female and so she'd decided upon her late grandmother's name; she wasn't going to change her mind now just because her baby had a penis.

"We've recorded your information already. What about his father—"

"—he has no father," Juuri interrupted. "He is pure Sohma."

There was a pause, and the doctors exchanged glances. "Alright, then," Satomi said, and there were more pen scratches on a piece of paper. They asked a few more questions, and Juuri answered them all, finishing the cup of juice.

Finally, Keiichi turned and returned to her bedside with a bundle of navy fabric in his arms. "I don't know how to say this… I've never done this before in my lifetime."

"What, deliver a baby?" Juuri asked, baffled.

"No, I've done plenty of that. It's just… don't… be alarmed, alright? If your son is… different." It seemed very difficult for him to be able to say the words. With more than a little trepidation Juuri moved the fabric covering the bundle's face aside using her free hand.

The face underneath the cloth was white as snow that fell steadily outside, whiter than any person she'd ever seen before. Small, faint purple veins ran alongside tiny arms and through his eyelids. Despite this, he was a lovely little thing, with sharply angular bones crafted just under the surface. Very gently, Juuri lifted one of Ayame's eyelids with her little finger, expecting to see the traditional red iris of an albino.

Ayame's eyes were not red, nor were they pink or blue or brown. Any of those, Juuri could have handled. Instead, they were a bright, glowing gold, shot through with tiny lines of poisonous green. The pupils were _vertical slits._

"Demon," she whispered, pulling her body away from the bundle.

"What?" Keiichi asked in surprise. "He's not a demon, he's…" he laughed. "Well I suppose you wouldn't know. You do live on the outside, after all. Here."

He pressed Ayame against Juuri's chest. There was a flash of light, a puff of smoke… and then the baby was gone, the empty fabric falling over Juuri's torso. She looked around wildly. "What… where…"

A tiny white snake, no thicker than her index finger, nestled between her breasts. As she stared into its yellow eyes, it flicked out a forked tongue at her.

Juuri screamed.

"Monster," she said. "He's a monster!" her arms flailed, and she knocked the snake away from her. Lunging, the pregnant doctor caught him and held him to her as if he were something sacred. "Now Juuri," she admonished. "That's no way to treat your son… Oh, you've torn your IV out."

Juuri attempted to leap from her bed, but her lower body was so numb she collapsed heavily against the male doctor. "Get away from me," she moaned as he lifted her again. "Get away… you're all crazy!"

"I can see you're upset," Keiichi said as she attempted to dig her fingernails into his skin. "We're not really the best people to explain this. But we'll take you to see Lord Akira; he'll be very pleased."

He carried her through her home and to the front door; Satomi followed, tucking the tiny snake down her own shirt as they entered the frigid February air outside, Keiichi's boots sinking deep into the piles of snow.

"Get the car running," he told his partner, and Satomi stuck her hand into his coat pocket, withdrawing car keys. The nondescript black vehicle was soon running with state-of-the-art heaters pumping hot blasts of air over the three of them. Satomi put her foot on the gas pedal and soon they were driving up the snow-lined road, past rows and rows of Sohma houses, on the way to the main estate. Juuri, still in the doctor's large lap, stared out the window in bewilderment. She had to be unconscious; there was no way this was real. Undoubtedly the doctor had put very strong medications into her IV and Ayame was just an ordinary dark-eyed, ruddy-skinned Japanese newborn. That was the only possible explanation.

There was movement under the fabric of Satomi's top, and a snake peeked its tiny head out of her collar, seeming to prefer the warm car. Juuri gulped.

Perhaps the drugs were still flowing strongly in her system because she felt as if she missed large portions of the drive, though she definitely noticed when they stopped. She supposed it made sense that the Sohma's main doctors kept a wheelchair in their car, though it was still an abrupt transition from being carried to being pushed in a leather seat. Her breath caught in her throat as Satomi withdrew an old-fashioned iron key from her pocket and inserted it into the heavy padlock dangling from the gate. She knew this gate—it was the one she passed by every day on her way to the Sohma's car lot. She'd never been past its massive hinges before.

Keiichi seemed to guess her thoughts, or maybe her face just revealed how overwhelmed and over her head Juuri felt. "It's alright," he told her, squatting down to look her in the eye. "You're not in trouble. Your son is very special, Juuri. I realize that this is frightening for you, but I promise you, it's normal in this family. Have you ever played that game at the county fair, where you have a pool of rubber ducks and you pay a ticket to choose one? You flip the duck over and if it has a special sticker on its belly, you win a prize."

Juuri nodded, though she was still confused. _Ducks_? She didn't follow his point at all.

"Well that's you, Juuri Sohma. Your child is the marked duck, and he is quite a prize indeed."

"I don't understand," she said, when they began walking on the snow-lined cobblestone path leading deep into the main estate. The wheels on her chair bumped along uncomfortably. "A baby can't turn into a snake. It's just _impossible_—it has to be a demon!"

"He won't stay a snake for long," Keiichi told her. "The only reason he hasn't turned back into a baby is because he's pressed to Satomi's chest in an embrace."

"I'm not taking him out of my top," Satomi said. "Snake-possessed children are quite sensitive to the cold. You can read about it in the family archives."

"Family archives…" Juuri muttered. She was starting to feel sore again and wished she hadn't ripped her IV out so hastily.

The main estate was even grander than Juuri could have hoped; like the rest of the enclosement it had the old-fashioned feel of a Japanese garden. Although snow covered the bare trees and the koi pond had frozen over, she imagined it would be glorious come springtime.

Several women of varying ages in old-fashioned maid's uniforms were staring unabashedly as they pushed open the grand entryway's doors. They appeared to have stopped in the middle of various tasks- sponges and dusters in hand- to feast their eyes upon Juuri. They searched her arms and, when they found no baby, shot confused glances at each other.

Keiichi and Satomi didn't pay any attention to them, so Juuri tried not to as well. Still, she couldn't stop herself from staring around at the beautiful, enormous house. It seemed as if it were frozen in time, a relic of many years past.

Keiichi pushed her wheelchair through the long, quiet hallways, following the sensible skirt of his pregnant partner.

"Are we really going to see Lord Akira?" Juuri asked, suddenly feeling very small. Her whisper seemed like a shout in the silent hallway.

Satomi gave her a gentle smile and a nod.

They had been walking for a long time and must have reached the heart of the house when they stopped outside a set of rice paper doors, a gentle light inside shining through. Even from here Juuri could hear the crackling of a fire in the hearth.

"Lord Akira," Satomi called in a gentle voice. There was no response, so she quietly pulled on the door; it rolled open without a sound.

The room was minimally decorated to emphasize the circular window taking up nearly one whole wall that provided a spectacular view of the courtyard. Underneath it was a small writing desk, and on the floor a multicolored oriental rug before the hearth provided a homey feel. The bed was easily the most prominent piece of furniture in the room; even larger than a king-sized bed, with posts at the end holding up a soft gray canopy. Various medical paraphernalia—beeping moniters and constantly printing sheets of paper—seemed anachronistic in the otherwise 1900's-styled building. Curtains obviously meant to surround the bed were tied back, and in the bed a person slept.

He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man Juuri Sohma had ever seen. His face was delicate and fine-boned, with long, smoky-grey eyelashes and fair hair framing his face in sleepy tendrils. The faint sunlight peering in through his window illuminated his face and neck which, along with his arms, were the only parts of his body visible over the bed coverings. He looked to be no older than thirty, if that.

"Lord Akira," Keiichi said, dropping down to one knee. The man in the bed stirred, eyelashes fluttering. His eyes brought bovines to Juuri's mind; the lovely, dark, and long-lashed eyes of a peaceful meadow's cow. He smiled faintly, and his expression made tears spring to her eyes. Something in her chest fluttered, fit to burst, from the first moment she laid eyes on him. It was as if her very soul cried out for him: _this person is precious; he is mine to protect. _She wondered if every Sohma felt that way. All of her fears and worries, as well as her pain, seemed to fade away when he turned those sweet, innocent eyes onto her face.

"Good afternoon, Keiichi, Satomi," he said, nodding to his doctors. His voice was gentle and slightly lyrical, as if he were reading song lyrics out loud, unable to keep the melody from slipping into the words. "And who is this striking young lady?"

"This is Juuri Sohma, my Lord," Satomi said, rattling a list of Juuri's ancestors off as if by heart until he nodded, seeing a familial connection with her. "She lives on the fringes of the 'outside' of Sohma property. And today, she had a baby."

Akira clapped his hands together, beaming like a small sun. "Oh, wonderful, wonderful! Congratulations, Miss Juuri. Babies are such a blessing." There was something very naïve and childish about her until now mythical family head that Juuri wouldn't have anticipated. He began to sit up, and then fell back onto his cushions, coughing deeply. Juuri felt an uncharacteristic pang of worry in her chest, and for a moment she was startled. She didn't feel herself around this man, not at all. He seemed to have some serious control over her emotions, and that frightened her.

Still, when he beckoned her over, she couldn't stop herself from abandoning her wheelchair and walking on shaking legs over to him, grateful to have been dressed in a clean skirt sometime during her unconsciousness. Her legs gave out a few steps in and she collapsed to her knees alongside his bed, falling forward, her chin landing on the mattress beside him. She peeked up after a second and saw him smiling benignly down on her. His hand stroked her hair softly.

"Well let's see this baby of yours," he said, pausing to cough again. Unable to help herself, Juuri sat up and put a hand on his chest, feeling his heart under her hand battering his ribcage like a frightened baby bird. She knew, instinctively, that his weak heart was causing him pain and illness, and once again tears formed in her eyes.

"That's the best part, my Lord!" Satomi said, moving to stand beside Juuri's hunched form. "Her son… well, you're not going to believe this."

From the neck of her top, she withdrew the tiny white snake that had to be resting in the hollow of her collarbones. It appeared to be asleep. Akira's jaw dropped in wonder, and with shaking hands, he reached to take the creature from the doctor.

"My word," he whispered, staring at the snake in his hand. Its scales were beautiful in the firelight, each one containing a tiny rainbow from the firelight in the way a soap bubble shined. Akira glanced down at Juuri. "So you're from the outside property. I suppose you must be very confused."

Juuri nodded.

"Come closer," he said, smiling sweetly. Juuri wasn't certain what he wanted- until Keiichi was by her side, lifting her onto the large bed. Akira rolled over, his face inches from hers. The snake in his hands slithered over until it was touching Juuri's cheek. There was a brief flash of light and the strange, pale-skinned baby was back once again. It murmured happily and fell into a doze, content as a snake in its nest.

"Dear Juuri," the head of the family said quietly, taking her hands. "I have a story to tell you, of a wonderful and powerful spell cast by God countless generations ago; a dream he wanted to make last forever."

The way Akira told his story swept Juuri away entirely; his words encompassed her, caressed her, and she closed her eyes. After a while, she was uncertain if she herself was dreaming. Something warm glowed within her chest; something ancient and tied irrevocably to the man holding her tenderly. A bond that could not be broken; the blood of a Sohma.

"You've done it, Juuri," he concluded. "You've begun the banquet once again. One by one, the entire zodiac has died, and then the old cat in his room. It's been many years... I was beginning to fear that it would never come back, and yet here he is."

He cupped Ayame's round baby-face in the palm of his hand. "The loyal snake, returning at last. Sohmas are special, Juuri; we last forever, reborn again and again, never to be parted. It's not even us against the world, as the rest of the world doesn't matter at all. It's just us. You never have to worry about anything again; you're one of the chosen ones. We'll have a house built for you, and a bank allowance set aside... you won't have to go to school anymore. Oh! And we'll choose a suitable Sohma husband to raise Ayame by your side."

It was the 'find you a husband' line that did it- breaking Juuri, briefly, from whatever influence this strange man had on her. She couldn't even begin to guess how he knew she was no longer with Ayame's father—he couldn't possibly be so attuned to Sohma blood to recognize a different lineage in her son, could he?

"I'm not interested in marriage," she said, pulling away so that he was no longer touching her. "I'm only sixteen; I need to finish high school first, at least."

"It won't do to have a member of my Juunishi raised by a single mother," he replied with a shrug. "We have an image to uphold."

"But I don't _want_-" Juuri protested.

He pressed two thin fingers to her lips. "Shh," he told her, looking into her eyes with his impossibly dark ones.

She felt very dizzy looking into the depths of his eyes.

"You're mine, dear," he told her, not unkindly. "Sohma blood runs through your veins, does it not?"

Fear kicked like a rabbit in her stomach, but she nodded just the same. "Yes, Lord Akira." She hadn't wanted to say the words; it was as if they were forced from her throat by his hand. Unbidden, tears wavered in the corners of her eyes.

"Good girl," he said quietly, pressing his lips to her forehead. Then he lay back on his sheets.

"Leave me," he told the doctors and Juuri. "Tell the maids to begin a feast in celebration of the newest banquet."

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**Well howdy there! Looks like you've made it through this long chapter- thank you thank you! I have big plans for this story- it will be eight chapters long, to be posted Friday evenings.**

**What were your thoughts? As stated in the description, I want to focus on the Mabudachi trio and their experiences before the main series. This will DEFINATELY earn its M-rating for various reasons, so please keep that in mind- I'll post warnings before every chapter (I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable.)**

**Please feel free to check my profile for more information and art I've made for this story!**

**- JS**


	2. Year of the Dragon: Hatori Sohma

Year of the Dragon: Hatori Sohma

November 29, 1976

**Cult (noun)**: a group that is not part of a larger and more accepted societal norm which has beliefs or practices regarded by outsiders as extreme or dangerous

**(Warning: this chapter contains mentions and implications of child abuse, a graphic scene of childbirth, animal experimentation, and death from medical malpractice.****)**

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Hatori's hands were too sore to tie the knot on his school tie. Just sliding the button on his trousers through the hole had been painful enough, but even as stubborn a five-year-old as he was, he could see that he was not going to make this tie happen. He glanced at the small green numbers on his alarm clock and, with a sigh, gave up. He couldn't ask someone to do it for him or they'd question his inability; he supposed he'd just have to take the detention for not following the dress code.

He intentionally avoided glancing in the mirror as we walked through his pristinely neat bedroom to the door. He knew what he'd see there: a child slightly taller than average, with a shock of dark hair slicked back with gel and a damp comb, dressed in a white shirt, black trousers, and a black vest, ink-blue tie dangling sloppily over his shoulders. The only thing that didn't scream 'future politician of Japan' in regards to his appearance were his eyes, a green murkier and stormier than the sea. People commented on his eyes all the time, "how beautiful," they said, or "how unique." But what they really meant was clear to read in their faces: _how wild, how frightening, how inhuman._

A series of knocks on his front door caused him to affectionately roll his eyes. _Rat-a-tat, tat. Tat. Tat._ He recognized that knock; he'd heard it almost every day for as long as he could remember. He heard the squeak of his mother's chair when she stood up and each creak of the wooden floors as she walked to the door. She never did anything slowly or hesitantly, his mother; a very decisive, on-the-ball woman.

"Well, you're here early," Hatori heard her say as she pulled open the screen door. "Good morning, Shi—_oof_!"

There was a thud and a _poof_, and then his mother was loudly scolding the visitor. "Shigure Sohma, that's the third time this month. Contain yourself for once, young man!"

Hatori hastily pulled his gloves and long black coat on, but it was too late. "Sorry, Satomi!" a boy's voice said, but the skittering of curved nails on the wooden floor was already accompanied by the sound of pounding paws as something hurled itself upstairs. A ball of black fur was launched like a cannonball into Hatori's stomach, knocking the boy off of his feet, and then a cold nose was _everywhere_, snuffling his hair, into his ears… a whip-like tail wagged so fast that Hatori could actually hear the air resistance.

"Shigure… Shi—_stop _it!" Hatori protested, putting up his hands to hold the puppy back. Despite himself, something was shaking in his belly, desperate to get out; something his family told him was unprofessional and unbefitting of his future position as lead Sohma physician. _Laughter. _Finally, he got a hold of his younger cousin's scruff and pushed him away enough to sit properly back up with the puppy in his lap.

Shigure had coarse, solid black fur and round brown eyes with a big shiny nose. Though he was still small enough for Hatori to carry underneath one arm, his tellingly oversized pointy ears and heavy paws belied his soon-to-be huge size. Of course, that was right now. In just a few moments…

_Pop! _Gangly bronzed boy-limbs and a wide, grinning mouth replaced paws and muzzle. Hatori groaned and pushed his naked cousin away. "Now you're just gonna have to get dressed again, genius," he sighed. "Is it really _that _difficult to wait the two seconds it takes my mother to step back before you come barreling in?"

"I don't know about _difficult_," Shigure said, rolling over onto his back, completely nonplussed about his own unclothed state. "But I don't see much fun in that." He yawned hugely until Hatori could see all the way down his throat.

And it really was as easy as that for Shigure, Hatori knew. Shigure was equally comfortable in fur as he was in skin. Hatori could never be as limp-boned and sloppy and _easy _as Shigure always was. Even when he slept, Hatori was stiff as a board.

The two descended the stairs together, where Satomi Sohma was waiting for them, already dressed in her scrubs and lab coat. Wordlessly, she handed her nephew (four times removed) a neatly folded pile of his clothes, and ran a lint roller up and down her son's sleeves to catch the shed fur.

"Do well in school today," she told them once the dog-spirit was dressed, holding the door open as the two stepped into the snow outside. The wind had blown quite a bit of it onto Hatori's porch, but he made do by stepping in Shigure's previously-made footprints to avoid getting his shoes too wet.

"Do well?" Shigure asked teasingly once they were out of earshot. "Not, 'I love you', not 'be good,' but 'do well'? That's cold, Ha'ri."

Hatori said nothing, but walked even more quickly to the car that waited for them, the headlights casting glows like haunts onto the muffled, snow-covered world. Shigure held him back by the sleeve, suddenly looking serious.

"Listen, Ha'ri," he said. "You and your house… kinda smell like death again. Was your dad making you do that… thing?"

Curse Shigure's ultrasensitive dog-nose! By 'that thing', Shigure was referring to Hatori's training. His father brought home cages of various rodents and birds, sometimes even cats, to practice on. They would sit together in Keiichi's study, Hatori perched nervously on his father's knees, with a 'subject' in front of them. They would teach it a simple trick—push a button, get a treat!- and then it was Hatori's job to take the memory away from the animal.

"Like removing a tumor with a scalpel," his father explained. "You need to be quick and _extremely _precise when rooting about in their heads. Just take out that _one _thing—no, no, you stupid boy! See what you've done? You've destroyed its mind entirely."

Hatori had already lost track of the amount of times he had sent creatures into comas. It was just so _hard_, what he was expected to do… He dreaded one day having to practice it on humans.

But it never stopped there. "Well, you've essentially killed it anyway," Keiichi said with a shrug. "Waste not, want not… I guess this time we'll explore the digestive tract."

Hatori hated impromptu vivisections more than anything else. Splitting open an animal's skin, watching the blood pool, seeing the organs still carry out their functions before being forced to a stop… it _frightened _him, and fear was just another thing he wasn't allowed to feel.

"No," he said, voice a little more thick than normal. He swallowed hard, hoping the lump in his throat would leave. "Not last night."

Though still a child, and several months younger than Hatori at that, Shigure was markedly perceptive. He cocked his head and held very still, a dog scenting something on the wind. "You can stay at my place, you know," he said. He wasn't referring to just a simple sleepover; the _stay _had a subtle, permanent, intonation.

"You know I can't," Hatori sighed. Keiichi and Satomi were _the _ultimate Sohma doctors, and they'd pledged to have no more children. Raising Hatori was a burden enough, they said; couldn't everyone see how impossible a cursed child was? The role of Sohma doctor and memory-suppressor fell entirely on the boy's shoulders, and he needed his training. Tradition was everything. Not wanting his cousin to worry he forced his voice to lighten and painted a grin on his face. "Someday you're gonna need me to save you, you mangy mutt, so I gotta learn fast."

The window of the car rolled down a crack and a familiar voice said, "it's very rude to have conversations without me; I'm terribly offended."

"Aya!" Hatori snapped, throwing the car door open and barreling inside, dragging Shigure behind him by the front of his vest. "Don't do that, it's dangerous! Shigure's already transformed once this morning."

The extremely pale boy was indeed already shivering violently by the time Hatori had slammed the door closed and rolled the window back up. Shigure, his quick mammal-heart always keeping him a degree or two warmer than the other boys, pressed his body firmly to the reptile's. Hatori crawled over both their laps and nestled in on the other side. Ayame's long, silvery hair tickled his cheek, soft as silk and just as cool to the touch. When he was younger, Hatori loved running his fingers through it, marveling at the smooth texture; now he resisted such childish urges.

The driver backed out from Hatori's house and began making its slow way up the snow-covered road, the chains on the tires clanking noisily. Ayame's shivering stopped soon enough, the oldest boy in their trio withdrawing into the thick fur of his coats.

"Well, good morning, you two," he said once his teeth had stopped chattering. He brought his knees up underneath him so that he could tuck his face underneath Shigure's chin. His hand found Hatori's and held it tightly, lacing their fingers together, and Hatori couldn't find the strength to pull away. Ayame always acted so _loud _and _big _to the world, but in moments like these he seemed very small. "Tori, I've been hearing some interesting things through the grapevine this weekend about you; I'm most interested to hear the truth."

"Yes, so am I," Shigure said, resting his chin on Ayame's head to look over at the other boy. "Is it true what they say? Is there a new person like us?"

He said it like it was a marvelous, fantastical thought, and Hatori could sort of see his point there. For their entire lives, the three of them had been _it_. The cursed ones, the banquet-starters, the Juunishi. Hatori had been born mere weeks after Ayame, and Shigure followed that spring. The three of them against the world.

"Yes," Hatori replied shortly. No matter what pretty words were used to frame it, Saturday had been a hideous day for a thousand reasons. "I saw it myself; I helped my father deliver him."

No video he'd watched had been nearly enough to prepare him for the real thing. It was just he and his father—his mother had been away caring for Lord Akira, who had once again fallen ill. She'd been screaming. Her—Hoshi, with the soft, warm eyes and gentle hands, distantly related to Ayame's step-father.

"It had better be real this time," his father had said manically to him as they screeched to a halt outside her house. "I've had two- _two_!- false alarms since you boys were born, both just premature babies. But she's two months on the dot early… I think she could be the one! Lord Akira has been most anxious lately. He says if the rest of the banquet doesn't join soon, he's going to send out an order for all of the able, female inner-circle to become pregnant. Your mother doesn't want another baby."

Hatori had been surprised by this. An _order_ to become pregnant? His mother had said so many times that she couldn't stand having a second child, that she could barely tolerate the one she already had. Could all her protests be silenced like that, just by one order?

The two had practically flown into Hoshi's house, breaking the door's hinges with a kick rather than bothering with the master key. She'd been on her bed, shivering, and they'd sent her husband away insisting he'd be a hindrance. Keiichi'd wasted no time in stripping her down and bringing her to the birthing position. Hatori'd thought she didn't look well — very pale and sweating buckets.

"Come on, come on!" Keiichi had urged. "_Push_!" he sounded angry. When Hoshi blinked up at him, delirious with pain, he growled in frustration and put a hand on her stomach, pumping down hard. She'd let out a yowl of pure agony that sent every hair on Hatori's body standing on edge.

"Father," Hatori had said, feeling his own face pale and his very joints shake. "Don't… don't do that…"

Something large and purple was emerging between her thighs, accompanied by a shocking deluge of blood. She'd torn somewhere inside, but Keiichi Sohma barely seemed to notice. He'd grabbed the slippery thing in his hands and given a sharp tug. Hoshi let out little, half-strangled sounds of pain and her body seized violently, but the doctor had eyes only for the baby.

"Father, father, father…" Hatori could only repeat the word, wide-eyed in horror. Keiichi had whisked the thing to the en suite bathroom, using his scalpel to tear off the remaining amniotic sac. He clipped down the umbilical cord and, without pausing, used his medical scissors to separate mother from infant. Then he'd begun running warm water in the sink to rinse the squalling thing off.

"This is it, Hatori!" the doctor had said excitedly. "He's like you! I just know it! Lord Akira will be so pleased with me…"

Hatori shivered as he'd grabbed up a discarded pillow, pressing it hard between the woman's legs. It did no good and soon the fabric turned a deep, sodden crimson, overflowing and covering his hands like red gloves. There was no way there was this much blood in the _world_, let alone in one person...

Her warm brown eyes, the same he'd seen occasionally around his family's complex, met his for a brief moment. "_How are you today, Hatori?" _she'd inquired every time she met him. "_My, you are a handsome young boy. I bet your parents are proud of you!"_

She didn't say any of that then. Instead, she'd let out a little, wet-sounding gasp. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she shuddered, jolting once, twice… then laying horribly still.

"Father…" Hatori had said, not caring if the man saw the desperate tears in his eyes. "_Please_."

When the man didn't acknowledge him, something inside Hatori snapped for a moment, and he dove for the telephone, dialing the three numbers—_not _for the main house, but for the Japanese police. "Hello," he'd shouted to the officer before she'd managed to ask him what his emergency was. "A woman is in critical condition from labor—please send an ambulance!"

_This _had caught his father's attention. Still holding the screaming baby boy, Keiichi Sohma had seized the telephone from his son, knocking the boy to the floor. Blood seeped from the bed into Hatori's trousers. Scrambling to his feet, Hatori ran back to Hoshi and pressed his fingers to her neck. _Pulse, pulse… _She had to still be alive; people didn't just _die _like that, did they?

The answer, much as his brain had irrationally refused to accept it, was yes; they could. As easily and quickly as a mole with its memories destroyed, split down the middle with organs oozing out like pasta, always Hatori's fault.

"—_such _an imagination," his father chuckled into the phone, the Sohma-born gift of charm and lies dripping off his tongue like honey. "Better not let the little tyke watch any more medical dramas!"

Hatori didn't remember walking to the center of the room, or sitting down quietly on the floor. He still couldn't recall just when he'd started to rock back and forth, eyes staring at nothing, with his knees to his chest. He must not have processed his father hanging up the receiver or picking him up or any of the ride back to the main estate, though he dimly recalled having a small, warm baby held tightly in his arms as his father drove; instant car-seat, just add Hatori.

"So!" Ayame sang out flamboyantly now, squeezing Hatori's hand, and the five-year-old was snapped out of his memories-and lack thereof- from several days prior. "A boy, huh? What's his name?"

"Lord Akira picked a name for him," Hatori said quietly. "He's Kureno."

"Well? What details have you got for us?" the snake teasingly squeezed his arm. "Was he big? Did he look… unusual, like me?"

"What animal spirit possessed him?" Shigure asked, looking intrigued.

"Russet," Hatori said. "That's what… one of the maids described his eyes as. But most people will probably just assume it's a bright brown. He was a bird."

They pulled alongside the boy's private elementary school, and the three crouched at the door, ready to spring. They didn't move until thirteen seconds after the bell finished chiming, then, holding Ayame tightly, they made a sprint for the door.

"C'mon, c'mon," Hatori said, ever the leader, dragging the three into the bathroom. Ayame's shaking was so out of control that it was difficult to hold onto him. Shigure shut a stall door around the three of them as they huddled over the toilet, waiting to see if Aya would make it that morning or not. Shigure huffed hot little pants of breath onto blue fingers, and Hatori briskly rubbed his friend's cheeks with his hands, creating heat with friction.

Finally, Ayame was able to sink weakly down onto the toilet, burying his face in his hands. "I hate being this way," he sighed, sounding more than a little weary; he sounded _bone tired_. Hatori could emphasize. "I'm sorry to be such a burden on you two."

"Hey," Shigure teased, looking relieved. "You're our friend, so you're allowed to be a burden."

"My spirit must be the most pathetic." Some life was beginning to gleam back into Ayame's face. He peeked up at them with his striking eyes—grinning, just brimming with the desire to be dramatic and flamboyant again. "Oh, to be a lowly snake! Temptress of the garden of Eden, biter of ankles everywhere!"

"Come on, ankle-biter," Hatori sighed. "We're going to be late for class."

Miharu Boy's Academy (molding the fine minds of Japanese future) was full of boys ranging five to eleven years old. From above, they looked like crows as they hustled over stairs and through hallways; despite a few blonde foreigners, Ayame was the only one who truly stood out.

"He has a rare genetic condition," was what they said to every scoff and raised eyebrow. And perhaps he did—the genetic condition being _Sohma_. Ayame'd just had the luck in the draw; of all the babies born to their massive family, he'd been one of the (eventual) thirteen with a curse. And of those thirteen, his particular curse just so happened to be remarkably flashy.

If he'd been a shy boy, a quiet one who withdrew into himself and resisted human company, the strain of disapproving glances and sometimes loudly muttered comments would have crushed him. As it was—

"Yasu! Itsuki! Kauffman!"

- he was quickly pulled into a throng of boys. Popular as ever they chuffed him as only future-manchildren could, ruffling his hair and pounding his back with the manliest of hugs. "Sohma!" they cried. "What trouble did you cause _this _weekend?"

Even the big boys, some with the beginnings of acne and squeaking voices, had a soft spot for the oldest cursed Juunishi.

Ayame's laugh, loud and boisterous and utterly _delighted_, never once rang false even to Hatori's perceptive ears. He loved this, the nonsense, and that just made Hatori feel… odd. Odd and old.

Shigure eventually was pulled into the hurricane as well, acting as second-man for the elaborate telling of Ayame's ridiculous stories. And Hatori…

Hatori was left to point to clocks and doors where grouchy professors waited, cranky from all the racket.

They never said it, but he saw it in their eyes. _Hatori is cold_. _Hatori is boring._

Giving up, he went into his classroom. His teacher was a burly, perpetually squinting French man with a bad disposition, hired from overseas to 'teach the young ones some culture'. "Bonjour, monsieur Bordeaux," he greeted the olive-skinned professor, who harrumphed and tapped his wristwatch.

"My cousins will be in soon…" Hatori tried to explain, but the man didn't look as if he wanted to hear explanations. Sighing, Hatori retreated to the coatroom and removed his black school-regulation coat, hanging it on the hook labeled _Sohma, H. _In the cubby underneath he placed his shoes and the lunchbox he had packed for himself, and then he dithered a moment, looking at his gloves.

The door flew open with a bang, and Hatori was overwhelmed by _Christmas_—white skin, silver hair, golden-green eyes—flurrying about him like a snowfall. Despite regulations Ayame wore fur coats, and somehow was never questioned for it. It just seemed natural; the loud, flashy boy would wear loud, flashy clothes.

"_Tori_" the snake whined. "Gure's being _mean_, and—"

He stopped, eyes fixing on the skin of Hatori's wrist revealed just under his glove. "What is that." There was something very still and dark in his voice just then, a viper preparing to strike. He knew precisely what the red, puffy skin was.

"Aya, don't—" Hatori started. He didn't know what he wanted to say. _Don't go there. Don't open that box._

But Ayame had never before been stopped by doors and locks and blockades. He seized the index finger of the glove and pulled the dark fabric off his younger cousin's hand.

Red and purple stripes marred the flesh there, the most severe having broken the skin, a puffy, slightly wet scab. It extended a short ways up his wrist and onto his forearm. Ayame didn't have to look to know that Hatori's left hand would be much the same.

His pupils, normally round, narrowed into slits and he hissed, radiating white-hot fury.

"It's nothing," Hatori said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "It's fine, it's my own fault, it's…"

It was his mother, pinning his hands down with hers as his father swished the rattan cane through the air. It was biting his tongue hard to keep from screaming.

"It's…"

"_Do you know what you almost did? We can't be having police nosing through our business, Hatori! Stupid boy!"_

It was Ayame pulling him into a crushing hug and burying his face in Hatori's shoulder, shaking. "Tori," the older boy whimpered. "Tori… me too, Tori."

Hatori blinked at this, confused, until Ayame undid the first few buttons on his school shirt, slipping a slender, pale shoulder out to reveal a massive purple bruise there, staining like wine on a linen napkin, with a cut slicing an inch over his chest. His mother again, lashing out and forgetting the many precious and oftentimes jagged stones she wore on her fingers.

He saw it for only a second before Ayame was adjusting his clothes back again. The worry and anger on his face had disappeared into his smile—so dazzling that it utterly blinded anyone who saw it, so bright they would never have thought to look for something darker underneath.

"Water under the bridge, right? I know; we don't talk about it." With deft fingers he replaced Hatori's glove and knotted the dragon's tie for him at his throat, his forever-chilly fingers brushing the dragon's chin. "As long as I have you, I have everything!" Ayame laughed, deep and sounding so _genuine_. Then, as if on a whim, he turned and pressed his lips to Hatori's forehead. He had to stand on tiptoe to reach.

"Whoa, Sohma, didn't know you swung that way," a voice at the closet's doorway chuckled. Another chimed, "yeah, I'll have to call the girl's school. They'll be so disappointed!"

Some boys in the class had filed in and were beginning to remove their own coats and shoes and gloves. None of them seemed particularly surprised or perturbed.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Ayame laughed, giving a grand bow. "I do not swing one way or another. It simply wouldn't be fair, denying my love to anybody. It'd be like taking away the very sunlight under which we blossom!" He threw himself at the group, hugging and attempting to plant kisses and laughing as they ruffled his hair.

A hand tugged his belt loop: Shigure. "You ok?" he asked quietly, nodding at the gloves Hatori wouldn't remove.

Hatori tried to imitate Ayame and force a smile onto his face. It must have looked more like a grimace, because Shigure winced. "All is well," he said, putting on his authoritative, I'm-in-charge voice. Shigure gave a nod. They knew each other well enough to never call out a blatant lie.

When monsieur Bordeaux demanded everyone _s'asseoi, _they did as he said, pulling textbooks out from the baskets under their seats. Ayame had been placed in a front seat early on in the semester because he goofed off too much, but other than that they were in alphabetical order based on their last names. Hatori found he was having a hard time gripping his pencil to copy down words like _chien _and _chat _and _conseils_, let alone to do so with good handwriting. The professor began making his morning rounds through the desk aisles, peering at notebooks and criticizing sloppy penmanship. Hatori's grip on the pencil slipped, scrawling an ugly mark down the page.

A hand behind him seized his book and quickly flipped to a fresh page, copying down the required words and more._ Fleur, travail, boeuf…. _Before slapping the notebook back into place in front of Hatori. When the professor reached him, he wore a gruff smile under his dark moustache.

"Bravo, Sohma Hatori," he praised. "C'est excellent, as always."

He moved down a row, and then sighed in disappointment.

"Sohma Shigure," he growled. "Mauvais garçon. Forever behind on your work. Why can't you be more like your cousin?"

"If you'll excuse my bluntness, monsieur, it is because I do not intend to end up in a dead-end life track, stuck in a horrible meaningless job for the rest of my life like some people in this room."

He said this with a completely straight face, and a chorus of _ooh's _echoed in the room. When Shigure tried to push buttons, he rarely failed.

Monsieur Bordeaux began to swell like a bullfrog in a microwave. "Enfant gâté!" He snapped. "Such insolence! Detention, Sohma Shigure! You will remain in this classroom for one hour after school has released."

Hatori didn't have to look to imagine the smug, unimpressed smile his cousin was wearing just then. _Idiot._

The class eventually settled and was beginning to work on another project—oral reading of small sentences—when Ayame lifted his legs and placed his feet, crossed at the ankle, over his desk. It was as if he were reclining in a soft chair at home. Several students tittered.

"Sohma Ayame," the teacher warned, "don't push it."

Ayame pretended not to hear him. He kicked his classroom slippers off one at a time and they landed with soft thumps on the carpet. He had painted his toenails bright, metallic blue.

"Ayame!" the professor roared. The poor, stuttering boy standing in front of the class who had been trying in vain to read his sentence for the past four minutes looked relieved to have the attention diverted from him.

Ayame yawned hugely and pressed the toes of his left foot to the sole of his right; the knuckles cracked loudly.

"Detention, Sohma Ayame!"

"Oui, monsieur," Ayame agreed pleasantly, and then put his feet on the floor where they belonged, fitting them back into his slippers. The snake shot a quick glance over his shoulder, meeting Hatori's eyes. He gave a little smirk and a jerk of his head. _You're up._

The professor grumpily dismissed the stuttering boy, who ran to his seat with such relief in his face that he nearly tripped. Bordeaux looked around at all of his students and then settled on Hatori, no doubt hoping his prized pupil would bring some sanity back to his morning.

"Sohma Hatori," he breathed, reaching into his desk for the headache medicine he always kept in the top drawer. "Please read your sentence to the class."

Carrying his textbook with him, his eyes found the sentence he was supposed to attempt. _Vous êtes très gentil, _he was prepared to say. Easy; he could have done it in his sleep, and with a decent accent to boot. But…

Of all the eyes in the room that watched him, he couldn't avoid the round, eager brown ones and the brightly expectant golden ones. _Bad influences_, his mother would have called them.

Hatori turned his face so that he was looking directly into his professor's eyes as the man gulped down his pills and coffee. The man looked back.

"Monsieur Bordeaux," he began, addressing the teacher directly. "Faut péter dans l'eau pour faire des bulles." He spoke clearly and loudly, rather more slowly than normal so that not a single syllable was lost.

A few of the more advanced students in the class gasped, then laughed out loud. The rest flipped hurriedly through their textbooks, determined to translate what the teacher's pet had said. Shigure had fallen chest-first onto his desk and was laughing uncontrollably, tears of mirth squeezing out of his eyes. And Ayame… Ayame was staring at him with nothing shy of hero-worship in his eyes.

The professor stared at him, eyes bugging out, for a good twelve seconds. His face became red, then white, then _purple_.

"Sohmas!" he roared. "No good, the lot of you. Detention! _Detention_!"

Later that afternoon as they served out their one-hour detention under the watchful eye of Inoue-sensei (spaced throughout the room, one Sohma to a corner) a note came crashing into the back of his head.

Hatori waited a moment; it seemed the waifish professor and detention-master hadn't noticed the quick airborne trip of a balled-up piece of paper, so he pulled it out of his collar and quickly smoothed out the scrap, reading it over.

_Didn't know you had it in you, _said Shigure's messy handwriting. _Well done, you no-good Sohma._

Ayame peeked over his shoulder and shot Hatori a dimpled smile. Hatori didn't smile back, but he _felt _it, burning like a warm candle somewhere between his chest and his throat.

He thought back to what Ayame had said that morning. _As long as I have you, I have everything._

He didn't know if he could agree with what the snake had said. He felt his mind working, hard, to shove the terrible thing that had happened this weekend down… deep. Deeper and deeper inside him until he no longer thought of it at all, until it became hard and shaped itself like a pearl in an oyster. Until the smell of blood and the harsh, animal-like cries of a person torn apart didn't fill his ears. It felt surreal now, in this safe, quiet classroom. Like there were two Hatoris- the one the world saw, the quiet and calm and _serious _child—and the one behind closed doors, trapped and suffocating in the thick, impenetrable walls of his family.

He amended Ayame's words in his head a bit. _As long as I have you, I have _something.

It would have to do for now.

*.*

**Hiya! Looks like you've made it through chapter two. Please feel free to leave a comment: questions, criticisms, predictions, suggestions, and opinions are my life-force. J Also you can check out my profile, where I've put some background information for this story as well as links to art I've made for it. Otherwise, I hope you'll come back next Friday for chapter three! - JS**


	3. The One who was Loved: Akito Sohma

The One who was Loved: Akito Sohma

March 9, 1981

**Anxiety (noun)**: painful or apprehensive uneasiness of mind; doubt concerning one's capacity to cope with a perceived, impending, threat.

**(Warnings: death, destruction, some crass language, implications of child neglect/abuse, obsession. Merry Christmas! :) )**

***.***

"You know what they say about Sohmas. Is it true they really keep it in the family?"

Stupid, pug-nosed Wakaki and his pathetic wisecracks rarely caught any attention from anyone. The entire school, teachers included, knew exactly what he was: new money. More specifically, new money with less-than-honest origins. In a school full of elite _old _money, the boy stood out like a weed in a garden. However, there was enough of this fresh, blood-spackled yen that nobody talked about uprooting him.

"Sorry, I don't quite follow," Shigure replied with a strained, tolerant smile. "It's time for lunch—"

"Fucked your mom yet?" the boy asked. He elbowed his friends—the thugs who made up the aristocratic school's dregs—and they chuckled obligingly.

"Was there a point to this, or…" Shigure asked, trailing off. He had been headed to the small picnic table he, Ayame, and Hatori ate at. The dragon was already watching him, no doubt wondering if he needed assistance in wriggling away from the worm.

Disappointed by the lack of reaction, Wakaki walked closer, standing on tiptoe to breathe in the eight-year-olds face. He smelled like rubber cement and partially digested mint leaves. Shigure wrinkled his nose and leaned away—into the chest of the eleven-year-old who had slunk up behind him; Kuro, whose father had donated half the ancient books in the school's extensive library to keep his son enrolled.

"They say Sohmas refuse all offers of marriage, even from the best families. Yet the best schools are always full of their brats… where do you think they come from?"

Ah, now it made sense. There had no doubt been a rejected inquiry for a marriage arrangement, and now the gang leader's son was taking out his father's anger on what he saw as the source of the trouble.

"Really?" Shigure asked, unable to resist the urge to push a few buttons. "Funny, I wasn't aware of any arrangement attempts from _good _families."

Wakaki's face screwed into a scowl. "That why Aya looks like such a freak?" he snarled. Jerking his head at the white-haired boy, who was currently reenacting a kabuki show using pieces of his lunch as pawns for Hatori's amusement."They say a couple generations of inbreeding leads to—_oof_!"

The wind was knocked from his lungs as Shigure's knee collided with his solar plexus. He crumpled easily to the ground and the younger boy was on top of him, grinding his limbs into painfully sensitive areas. He let out a rumbling, chest-shaking snarl, and fear flashed on the other boy's face. It hadn't been a particularly _human _growl.

Shigure felt Kuro's thick fingers grabbing for the back of his shirt, and he spun around to sink his teeth into the bigger boy's hand. Kuro let out a shocked wail. Though he couldn't see them, the teeth felt like pointy little triangles in the meat of his palm.

"Little fag brat," Wakaki choked, laughing painfully as soon as he got his breath back. "Did I hurt your feelings? You love Aya that much?"

The palm on his face ground the back of his head deep into the dirt.

A hand wrapped around his waist and another his wrist, yanking him bodily away from the boy. He struggled, but the arms around him were much stronger. Shakes wracked Shigure's body and he actually felt his bones shifting underneath his skin. His captor must have felt it as well, because he heard a sharp intake of breath. _Hatori._

The dragon carried him a few steps over to the bordering of the school's property, slamming him hard against the metal fence and pinning him down with his body.

"Sohma, you keep that dog on a leash!" Wakaki yelped, sounding both afraid and humiliated, and angry about it. "C'mon, Kuro… let's get you to the nurse."

Shigure's ears were so sensitive at that moment he could pick up each blade of grass as they bent under the boys' shoes. He'd never before felt his animal spirit so close to the surface, and it was over _those _idiots, of all things. He was still growling, harsh, animal sounds that vibrated him against the jangling metal surface.

"Stop it," Hatori ordered. "_Stop _it!"

It took another minute for Shigure to calm down. He sunk limply, exhausted, in his friend's arms. "What the hell was that?" Hatori asked him, once he was sure Shigure wasn't about to transform. "You've been a nutcase for days now."

It was true; the normally passive, benign canine of the zodiac had been… antsy, as of late. Shigure had had a hard time sleeping, or eating, or holding still for too terribly long the past couple of days. Something inside him felt _off_, an itch he couldn't quite scratch, and he'd become moody having to deal with it.

"Sorry," he said, already tired of being touched. He yanked away from the older boy's grasp. "Just forget about it."

"_Forget_ about it?" the look on Hatori's face was one of frustration. "Look, I'm crap at memory suppression. Don't force me to have to attempt it on a school full of people just because you're in a mood or whatever."

"Oh _sorry,_" Shigure snapped, once again feeling his hackles rising. "Sorry to inconvenience the perfect Sohma. Can't let his little friends get _too _out of control, can he?"

He nearly ran into Ayame, who was standing behind them, wringing his hands nervously. "Don't fight," he said. His pointed features were lined with worry. "I don't like it when you get like this. It's scary…"

"Reminds you too much of your mommy and step-daddy, huh?" Shigure lashed out, and then instantly regretted it when he saw the snake shrink back, hurt in his eyes. "I'm… sorry," he amended, sounding sincere now. "That was too much. I should probably just go now."

"You're ditching?" Hatori asked. Shigure shrugged. "Tell 'em I got sick and had to go home."

"Oh, so you nearly cause a fight and now you get to skip off. I'm getting really sick of this. What happens if I _don't _bother to cover for you?"

Shigure raised his arms up in a '_who knows_' gesture. "I'll see you later," he mumbled, squeezed Ayame's shoulder. "Hey, I _am_ sorry," he said again. "That was awful." Ayame's smile looked more forced than usual, but he tried.

"Feel better, Gure," he said quietly.

It was nothing to climb over the fence. Inserting his fingers high above his head in the links, he hauled himself upright and over the edge, his palms and knees slapping on the asphalt on the other side. He was tempted to remain in that position as he ran—the dog hadn't retreated, not completely—but he forced himself to his feet and headed for the woods. Once inside, he welcomed the dog, and felt a shade better as his heavy paws crunched over the fallen leaves.

He knew just how much Hatori hated his gilled body with the thin, veiny skin stretched over reedy bones. And Ayame, though he never said it, clearly preferred the limbs and warm blood his own form provided to the stringy muscles and glimmering scales of the spirit.

Perhaps it was purely physical. Perhaps because he got to stay in his own class as a mammal, it felt more normal to him than it did to the others. Maybe it was because he got to keep the dark hair and brown eyes that fit in with his Japanese heritage and nobody raised an eyebrow at the way he looked. The majority of his organs and bones and muscles remained the same, if shrunk or rearranged a bit.

But it didn't feel entirely physical. He wondered if he would feel the same with any other spirit possessing him. Was it a dog's generally people-loving good nature that made him this way? He and the dog seemed one and the same for the most part, interchangeable souls sharing a heart. Where the others- Hatori and Ayame and Kureno and even baby Ritsu- saw a burden, he only saw a challenge.

Shigure was never alone. Even when others were around, within him was the thudding tail and warm, coarse fur of an ancient spirit.

But something was upsetting the spirit, causing it to stiffen and growl and snarl. The something felt like...

Dread.

Or was it anticipation?

***.***

"Gure…" the dog was woken from his doze by a small hand touching his cheek. Little Kureno, all chocolaty eyes and puffy lips.

Shigure groaned groggily and looked around; he was sleeping on the porch swing, the sunset filtering through the screen surrounding it causing dappled patches of orange to cover everything; the floor, his skin. "Let me sleep," he mumbled.

"Auntie Bunko said you skipped school," Kureno ignored Shigure's order and climbed up beside him, teetering precariously on the edge. The swing gave a wild lurch and he fell onto his cousin's arm.

Kureno spent much of his time playing with his toys—and baby Ritsu—outside the main estate's kitchen, where the maids could fuss and coo over him. "Poor motherless dove," they'd cluck, shaking their heads at each other sorrowfully. And Kureno was _cute_, with round baby-cheeks and fluffy brown hair—they couldn't resist slipping him various treats from the ovens as they worked. No doubt that's where he'd picked up the gossip of his cousin's illicit activities.

"Watch it," Shigure sighed, grabbing onto the four-year-olds shirt to keep him from falling off. "Yeah, so what?"

"She said you ran away into the woods and stayed there _all day _and they had to send my daddy and your daddy out to find you." Kureno's eyes were wide with surprise—and even a little admiration—at such naughtiness. "And you're grounded now."

"I repeat: so what?"

He didn't need to ask why the young bird was doing there. Kureno _loved _his older cousin and had latched onto him like children sometimes do, following him around and inquiring after all his activities with fascination. They'd been close ever since New Year's, where they'd had to perform the ceremonial exchanging-of-the-years dance together. Shigure didn't know what he had done to earn such adulation, but it could be annoying.

The child then said something that caught his full attention. "Is it 'cuz you feel yucky inside? I do."

"How so?" he asked, poking Kureno's soft belly. "Too many sweets giving you a stomachache?"

Kureno pushed him away. "_No_," he said, serious in the way only little kids could be. He leaned in and whispered in Shigure's ear, "Can't you hear her?"

Something like ice slid down Shigure's spine. "Her?"

"Her. The little girl… crying. There's something scary about it, it makes _me _want to cry. You hear her, don't you Gure?"

Shigure's throat felt very dry. That sound on the wind just then… it was very like a baby's whimper.

"What's happening, Gure?" Kureno asked fearfully.

"Nothin', squirt," Shigure said, laughing out loud to dispel the moment. He ruffled through the little boy's hair. "Come on, dad's making curry tonight. You should call your father and ask if you can stay."

Kureno brightened momentarily—Shigure usually just brushed him off and told him to go home. "Can I stay the night? Can I sleep in your bed?"

"Sure, whatever." Shigure would never admit it, but for just a moment, he felt a little afraid. He reached for his younger cousin's hand to escort him inside, glad to not face this strangeness alone.

Having Kureno beside him in the trundle bed actually eased some of Shigure's cantankerous feelings. Perhaps it was the soothing sound of a child's breathing that calmed him, or maybe just having someone who understood what he was going through. He managed a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before…

_It wasn't the first time he'd had this dream… not recurring often enough to be wary of, but over the years it had happened a handful of times. It was a strange dream—so familiar it might have been a memory. _

_It always began the same way: he was among a large group of animals. Not animals that could be found in a pet store or a zoo or even in the wild… these were…_

_Old._

_Powerful._

_They all carried with them the wisdom of ages; all were, in their own way, painfully beautiful to see._

_And he loved and knew them all; he had nothing to fear darting between the mare's legs, or sniffing at the snake's mouth, or scaling the dragon's back. They could hurt him—of course they could, and he them—but they wouldn't. There was a sense of absolute serenity with these eleven other animals- they belonged together, a chain, circling forever and ever until they were the only things left at all. Here, he was safe. Here, he was _home_._

_But tonight, something was different. It began the same way, walking a long winding path up the side of a mountain so ancient and undiscovered that he questioned the possibility of such a thing existing at all._

_He followed the colorful tail feathers of the bird and heard the boar's heavy footsteps behind him. Smooth as ghosts, they reached the thousands of lanterns tethered only by a thin cord of twine to the trees that lined the path, floating in the air; as they stepped past the twine snapped, releasing the lanterns to float away. They filled the sky with a brilliant, bursting light, outnumbering the stars._

_Then came the music, faint and starting to grow. Instruments that didn't even exist anymore; the beginning of musical evolution. Pipes and flutes, drums and bells, mingled in with less recognizable sounds. Excited, the animals sped up to burst into a clearing surrounded by a perfect circle of trees. There, they stopped in their tracks. In the center of the clearing was a person: a beautiful, terrible, sad little girl._

_She was crying, despite the festive music and lights, the table laden with delicious and exotic foods visible just between the trees. She was _lonely_._

_The rat threw himself off of the ox's head, running towards her on tiny pink paws. It climbed up the hem of her dress, over her arm, and onto her shoulder. For a moment, her tears stopped, and she looked at him, surprised._

"_Hello," she said, and then looked around at all of them. "You're here. I was afraid you wouldn't… I mean…"_

_The tiger thrust its purring face under her arm, nuzzling in close. The rabbit hopped into her lap. The snake curled up before her, resting its scaled head on her foot. One by one, all of the animals went to comfort their God. Her smile rose over her cheeks, such a lovely thing to see, but still Shigure hung back. Feeling something missing, she looked around at the creatures that surrounded her, and then scouted the trees, finally settling on the large black dog._

"_Please," she said, holding a little hand out to him. And he couldn't resist, couldn't stop the pull that drew him to her. She rested her hand—warm, smelling of flower blossoms—on his nose. A thousand feelings washed over him just then: love, anger, possession. Seeing all the other animals holding onto her, he wanted to growl._

_Mine. _Just_ mine. Why should I have to share…?_

"_I love you," she told him, _just _him, and he felt his heart swell to aching. _

_I must make this dream last forever._

"-re. Gure! _Shigure!_"

Tiny hands, shaking his shoulders, and hot tears were splashing onto his face. Kureno was kneeling on the bed, sobbing fit to burst as he woke his cousin up.

The smell of flower blossoms lingered in his bedroom. It was still dark outside.

The phone rang, piercing the darkness, and the two boys ran from the room with their bare feet thumping on chilly kitchen tile. It was Ayame.  
"Did you see her?" the snake asked. He, too, was weeping. They assured him that they had, but it was the call from Hatori, seconds later, that sealed the deal. "I know where she is."

Shigure's parents, woken by the kerfuffle, filed yawning into the kitchen. "Whass'amatter, babies?" Bunko asked, leaning on her husband. They couldn't answer; they could only cry.

"We have to _go_," Shigure said insistently.

***.***

_Akito Sohma, spawn of Akira Sohma, carried by the maid who had no idea she was pregnant until four tearful boys (and one squalling baby) came upon her to shout the truth._

_The maid, Ren, with long slithering hair and a slightly mad gleam in her eyes, didn't take to the attention well._

"_I'm pregnant with… God?" she'd asked dubiously._

_Akira was overjoyed. "At last," he whispered, wheezing into his handkerchief. "I'm so proud…"_

_Ren soon became angry with the attention the boys lavished upon her; it was clear nobody—not the other maids, not the boys, not Akira himself—spared another thought to her. The only thing anybody was interested in was the thing growing within her, sapping her comfort and energy and strength and making her sick every day for seven months._

"_What makes you think I _want_ a baby?" she asked testily whenever one of the boys massaged her feet or fetched her peaches on the trees growing outside. "I could have it cut out of me. They can do that now, you know."_

_They begged that horrible thought away. _No_ Ren, _please_ Ren, _you mustn't_, Ren._

_The dog-boy with the smirk that had seemed to etch itself permanently onto the lines in his face was the worst of the offenders. She'd woken so often with the child in her bed, face pressed to her ever-growing stomach, that she'd sent them all away and went to complain to the head of the family._

_But he hadn't seemed to care either; far-away eyes smiling over the landscape, forgetting everything she'd ever done for him. "Our child is special," he whispered._

"_What about me?" she screamed. "Aren't _I _special?"_

"_Yes," he insisted, pressing his hand to her womb._

"_That's not me," Ren pulled away, hurt. "That's… someone else."_

"_I love her," he replied, oblivious to the pain he was causing._

_Something inside the ex-maid snapped, then. "Well I _hate_ 'her'. What makes you think a woman could be God, anyway? Look at me!"_

_Finally, Akira did. Dark eyes met darker ones, and the silence stretched for a long time between them. _

"_If you want me to carry this baby, you'll have to promise to never love another woman more than me. This baby will be a man. Only a man is fit to fill the head of the family role."_

_She tried to hurt him like he'd hurt her._

"_Ren, that's preposterous—"_

_He silenced when he saw what his lover was doing. She'd seized a pair of scissors from his cabinet and was holding them at a dangerous angle to her own body. There was no bluff in her eyes._

"_This baby is male," she hissed._

_Gulping, Akira nodded. "My son," he agreed._

_When she was born, all eyes left Ren entirely. She faded into the background, to be replaced by an entire household that held the baby, cradled her gently, kissed her cheeks and offered her gifts._

"_She was born to be loved," Akira sighed wistfully. "Ah, I mean _he_ was. Of course. Born to be loved, never to be left behind. He will never have to be alone."_

_Left in the background, forgotten by everyone, _alone_, Ren seethed._

***.***

Akito changed everything. The trio found their lives revolving around the baby; anything to make her smile. Maids would check in on her at all hours of the morning to find at least one boy asleep beside her crib, a hand between the bars to hold hers. There was no chasing them away.

Nobody was affected as much as Shigure, however. His entire world felt shifted just by looking into her large, unfocused eyes. If allowed to, he would sit with her in his lap in her rocking chair, unable to take his eyes from her sleeping face. She was his everything.

Perhaps that was why, when tragedy struck only several short months afterwards, it made less impact on them than it otherwise would. Their hearts were simply too full of their precious deity to feel much else.

The door to their classroom slid open on oiled hinges, so quiet the students didn't realize their headmaster was there until he called to them.

"Sohmas," he said, and all sixteen students looked up from their essays to focus on him. On well-trained legs, the prestigiously wealthy boys sprung to their feet, one arm before their chest and the other behind their back, as they bowed deeply to him.

"Good morning, Kita-sensei," they said in perfect unison.

"Ah, yes, good morning students," he said distractedly, gesturing for them to sit. "I need to speak with the Sohma boys, if you'll excuse the interruption."

Thirteen students and one curious professor watched as Ayame, Hatori, and Shigure filed out of the room past their headmaster, who slid the door closed behind them. He took his time turning around to face the three boys, and when he did the look on his face was one of uncertainty and sorrow.

"I'm afraid I have bad news for you," he said, clearing his throat. "Earlier this morning, the car carrying two of your relatives met a side-collision from an out of control lumber truck. They were forced over the edge of the overpass, and fell onto the road five hundred centimeters below. Ambulances were called, but both passengers as well as the driver were declared dead upon arrival to the hospital."

He said all this smoothly, like he'd practiced several times before coming to get them. Ayame was looking fairly green with horror, while Hatori's face showed no emotion whatsoever.

"Who were the passengers?" Shigure asked uncertainly, his mind instantly flashing to baby Akito, where he'd left her that morning in her bassinet by the door.

The headmaster glanced down at the sheaf of notes in his hands. "Their names were Keiichi and Satomi Sohma. I understand they were the parents of one of you … your school records are a little unclear as to your family, to be quite honest."

"Mine," Hatori said, his voice steady, but a little hard. "They are—were—my parents."

Ayame, beginning to shake, reached two pale hands to Hatori, who hesitated only a moment before taking them. He allowed the snake to cling to him as if he were the one who needed comfort.

"I see," Headmaster Kita said solemnly. "Your family has sent your driver to pick you up. As the deceased were not presentable for a viewing, a cremation has already taken place before the mourning ceremony—"

"They've already been _cremated_?" Shigure asked, his voice leaving his mouth slightly higher than he was used to. "Who made _that_ decision? Hatori didn't even get to say—"

"It's _fine_, Shigure," Hatori said, his voice clipped. "I'm sure Lord Akira thought it was best." The look on his face left no room for argument. _Shut up, Shigure, _his eyes said. _Don't press too hard; I'll break._

"I just…" Shigure had no idea what emotion he was supposed to be feeling right now, short of frank incredulity and numbness. "I'll… I'm gonna go get our stuff."

He walked on stiff legs back to the classroom, arriving at his own desk first. He began to slip things from the desktop into his satchel. "We're going home," he said to the professor, who was clearly waiting for an explanation. "There's been a death in the family."

"Oh…" the professor looked at a loss. "Class?"

"We're sorry for your loss, Sohma family," the well-trained students said in robotic unison. Some of them helped gather up Hatori and Ayame's belongings.

"See you later," Shigure told them all, offering an awkward bow at the door before hustling back out. He didn't feel entirely connected to his own body.

Ayame clutched his arm on the entire walk to the front of the building, squeezing him until he lost feeling in his fingers.

Hatori hesitated at the door of the car, uncertainty crossing his face. No doubt in his mind he was imaging rollover accidents, earsplitting crashes, screams of pain. Ayame, openly crying now, took his cousin's hands.

"We're here for you, Ha'ri," he sobbed.

"Yeah," Shigure said, tongue feeling too thick in his mouth. "C-come on, we got this."

A few miles in the driver had to pull over onto the side of the road, where Hatori threw himself out of the car, sinking to his knees on the asphalt and vomiting violently into the scrub bushes there. His shoulders rolled under his shirt as his entire body reacted, heaving until there was nothing left to reject. Then he fell onto his side, looking spent and unable to move. The driver, face grim, had to carry him back to the backseat, where he slumped bonelessly against Ayame's shoulder. They made their way back home in silence.

Family members were milling outside the gate as they approached, and Hatori stiffened beside him. Shigure could guess his friends thoughts just then: he didn't want to deal with people, couldn't handle it, couldn't tolerate handshakes and "_we're so sorry for your loss_"s and tears and sad faces…

"I got this," he said with a wink, throwing himself out of the car. Pasting a remorseful expression on his face, Shigure went among the people, shaking hands, asking questions, gathering information. Aya soon joined him and they made a big show of playing the grieving nephews, distracting everybody as Hatori made his escape. It took some difficulty to avoid hugs from the less knowledgeable family members, until Kureno's father found them in the crowd and wrapped protective arms around their shoulders. "We'd better get these boys inside," he told everybody. "They'll need to be with Lord Akira."  
He didn't say it, but his meaning was clear: _they belong with the inside members. Outside members aren't involved._ Shigure wondered if the man was glad for the car accident; it was no secret that Keiichi had killed his wife.

Once inside the main estate, Shigure was overwhelmed by more people, finally seeking his mother's eyes out. She was crying; many of them were, really. Shigure wondered if he should feel bad when he didn't have a tear to shed.

It was several hours until he and Ayame could get away, before they could split up to track down their friend. Shigure wasn't surprised at all when he found Hatori in Akito's nursery. Where else would someone like them turn for comfort?

The dragon sat with his back pressed to the wall and his legs bent at the knee. His hair spread like a dark stain over the bright wallpaper patterned with cartoon trains. In his lap slept the tiny baby, her fingers curled lightly over his thumb.

The first emotion Shigure felt, seeing his grieving friend that way, was jealousy. Like a sharp knife sliding up between his ribs, the ugly thing throbbed deep inside him. Trying to mask his intentions, he sat beside Hatori and slid in close, until Akito was partially pressed to his own side as well.

Hatori slowly roved his head over, understanding and worry in his eyes. Shigure's ploy hadn't worked, and the dragon was just beginning to guess how deep his obsession lay. Shigure forced his face to go blank. _I have no idea what you're implying_ _with that face_, he attempted to commune.

Hatori sighed and passed Akito over. _I don't have it in me to deal with this right now._

Shigure felt a pang of guilt, but he couldn't give her back. To make up for it, he tilted his head to nuzzle into Hatori's shoulder.

"We'll do what we have to do," he said softly.

"But what is that?" Ayame asked from the doorway, where he just arrived. "What _are _we going to do? What can we do?"

He approached closer and sank to his knees in front of the other boys, forming them into a triangle.

"Well, Ha'ri is going to come live with me and my parents, right?" Shigure asked, seeing no other option. "We can move into a bigger house, or…"

"No," Hatori said, speaking so sharply that Akito snuffled. They all watched her with bated breath until she settled back down again. "I can't… I have to finish my own training. I'm the Sohma doctor now. I'll need their equipment, and their office…"

"So you're just gonna be staying in your dead parent's house by yourself?" Shigure asked, dubious. It wasn't an impossible thought; Hatori was independent enough as he was, and the maids were over all the time anyway. It wasn't like he wouldn't be fine, but…

The dragon reached forward and took up one of Ayame's hands. Holding it gently by the wrist, he pushed down the sleeve of his school uniform until he was exposed to the elbow. Fading yellow and green bruises, in the shape of fingerprints, covered a good majority of the white skin there.

"How long has your mother been in France, Aya?" he asked softly. "Three weeks? And they're only now beginning to fade?"

Ayame blinked in shock, before slipping his smiling mask over his face. "Oh, that," he said. "You know how easy I bruise, it isn't so bad—"

"Enough, Aya," Hatori said. "Enough. I'm sick of this. Please move in with me."

"W—what?"

The dragon had put all his cards out on his table. _Abandon your parents; they've already abandoned you, haven't they? _"Don't… make me stay there by myself."

_Well, that seals the deal. _Shigure could have laughed. Ayame would never do something like that for himself, but with Hatori asking for company, with such sincerity in his eyes…

He shed his parents like a snake would shed its skin with a simple, "of course, Ha'ri."

Things would never be the same again.

They would never look back.

***.***

**Howdy dears; I hope you had an enjoyable holiday/break from school/winter-ness. I had an amazingly difficult time with this chapter and rewrote it like five times… it was a nightmare. I'm still not certain it turned out exactly like I wanted, but I feel fairly satisfied with it. Please review (if you feel like it)—remember; criticism helps a writer see her (or his) view from a fresh set of eyes, which can be helpful after she's been staring at it long enough that she doesn't know what she's doing anymore. (How I feel after all the revisions… ^_^) (As always, links to artwork for each chapter in my profile) (Also, as a response to a comment: I'm operating on Mountain Time … so I suppose my Fridays might be Saturdays for others! Didn't think of that, haha…)–JS**


	4. Year of the Rat: Yuki Sohma

Year of the Rat: Yuki Sohma

June 12, 1984

**Trapped (Adj): **a position or situation from which it is impossible to escape

**(Warnings: some coarse language, kids "blossoming", ambiguous drug use)**

*.*

Ayame didn't sleep in Hatori's bed _every _night. Only on weekends, and holidays, and during the winter when he was chilled to the very bone. Perhaps if he was sad, or stressed, or if the summer humming of the cicadas became too much. Also whenever his mother was in town, though that was very rare indeed.

No; certainly not _every _night.

Hatori never commented on it when he awoke to slender arms around his chest, an ankle trapped between his feet. He'd simply sigh and start his morning, perhaps pausing to tuck a silvery lock behind an ear, or to cover chilly toes back up with the blanket. Even as they approached teen years and infrequent morning wood caused at least one of them to flush and look away, they both had a silent pact to never speak of it. And if, perhaps, he'd wake to find damp tracks of salt drying on his older friend's cheeks, he never made mention of it. They were always gone by the time the sun rose.

Sometimes it felt like that was the only time they saw each other, in the murky gray moments of morning grogginess. Hatori had taken to shutting himself up in his parent's office for long hours. The door was always locked, though Ayame never once tried the handle. It was usually silent, but sometimes sounds would catch his attention, and he'd cover his ears with a shudder. A squeak, or a cry, or a chirp, always meaning the same thing: on the other side of the door there was an animal in pain. Sometimes he'd hear a quiet curse from Hatori and that was his cue to bring up a pot of tea, as it marked yet another failure.

He was alarmed when he caught a glimpse of the dragon's report card in the mail: his once stellar grades had plummeted rapidly. When he timidly brought up the subject, Hatori had responded with a shrug and a, "It's not like it matters, does it? What am I ever going to need with history, or art, or European languages? My life is already decided."

The circles under his eyes were dark as coal. Sometimes he was called out of school, or from his rare minutes of sleep, by over-excited maids. "It's a few weeks early," they'd say when a Sohma woman was going into labor. "Surely this might be it..."

Twice, they were correct. Two dark-eyed little girls, born one year after another. And if anyone found it odd that a twelve-year-old bore sole responsibility for the delivery of dozens of babies, they certainly never said it.

"I don't mind," he'd said when Ayame had tried to intervene on one early morning phone call. "I'd rather do the deliveries myself. I know I'll do it right, and everyone will be safe."

Rumors began to filter through the inner circle shortly following the birth of the horse. "Only six positions left," they whispered nervously, eyeing every pregnant Sohma who passed their way with curiosity and disgust. _Position_. As if the fetuses were vying for a choice job application. "It's a ticking time bomb before the cat is born."

"What are they, cereal boxes? Who's gonna gets the crappy prize?" Hatori snorted, irritated. Shigure had laughed out loud at the metaphor, always loving an unusual or tricky play on words and meanings. But Shigure, too, had changed. Ayame only saw him in school lately, as his younger cousin had become a living shadow to their little God. To spend time with one was to spend time with both, and though Ayame would never admit it, Akito made him feel uncomfortable.

Though barely out of diapers her eyes seemed to see right through him. He could refuse her nothing, not even his love, and that kind of hold on his heart was frightening. She was an odd child; quiet, with a faraway gaze. But she was angered instantly whenever she didn't get her way. Thankfully, she _always _got her way. Or, almost always.

"Stupid brat!" the sound of a slap in the hallway leading to the kitchens stopped Ayame in his tracks. He had returned home from school slightly earlier than Shigure. The chokehold on his heart tightened significantly as the crack of a hand against a face broke the silence: Akito was unhappy. He could do nothing to stop his feet from racing around the corner to find her.

There she was, cowering, with her mad, beautiful mother looming over her. She wasn't crying, not quite, but the possibility of tears lingered.

"Didn't I tell you never to touch me?" Ren snapped. "I suppose you wanted to hold my hair, did you?"

"Mommy's hair is pretty..." Akito said quietly, her eyes following the natural movement of the dramatic locks swaying around her mother's slim figure. "I just wanted to see it..."

"We see with our eyes," Ren replied. "Not with our filthy little hands. And don't call me 'mommy'." A nasty smile split her face into two for a moment. "You think I'm pretty? I am, it's true. That's because I'm a woman. But you will never be beautiful. You're just an ugly, hateful little boy."

The tears were definitely closer to the surface. "You're not pretty! You're _ugly_! I hate you!"  
Ren raised a hand to strike her daughter again, but Ayame's spirit acted without consulting his mind. He leapt onto the back of the tall woman, dragging her away from the miserable child. He _knew_ that fear- the fear, and the sadness- of being hated and hurt by the one you wished would love you most.

"What," he said into Ren's ear, surprising himself by how quiet his voice was. Quiet and dangerous, with fangs bared and poison dripping. "Would Lord Akira say if he heard a _maid _was manhandling his son?"

Ren stiffened for a moment at the name of her lover, and then forced a laugh, throwing Ayame off of her and into the wall with a crash. "_Maid_? Me? I am Lord Akira's _love_. His _only_ love." she threw a glance over her shoulder at Akito.

"No!" the child screamed, running in front of Ayame and holding her arms out wide. "You don't get to touch my Jyuunishi. You don't get to hurt them. They're _mine_! Daddy _said-_"

"Your daddy _lied_," Ren whispered, leaning in close. "You think they love you? You think you have a bond? Just wait. One day, they'll leave you. They'll _all _leave you."

Seeing the crushed look of terror in her daughter's face, Ren took her leave, smirking softly. Akito held so still for just a moment that Ayame hardly dared breathe. Then she turned around to face him.

"You'll never leave me, right Aya?" she asked. "You love me. Forever."

"Of... of course," he agreed, and she slowly sank into his lap. After a moment, her hand came up to run small fingers through his white hair, which was several inches past shoulder length. "Pretty..." she mused quietly, and then reached to touch her own hair, cut in a bristly boy's crop. Her smile instantly disappeared.

"Boys aren't supposed to have pretty hair," she said disapprovingly. "_Or _clothes."

She was referring to the bright silk garment he had slipped into after school. He wondered if she'd order him to change, and a small pool of dread formed in his stomach. He hated living completely at the whims of another person. Even such things as his clothes decided by a child...

Just then, Shigure came up the hallway from the direction Ren had left. His eyes found Akito where she sat against his friend's chest, and his eyes narrowed. "Akito," he said. "I thought we were going for a walk together after I got home from school."

"You took too long," she pouted. "Did you have detention again? Aya came for me, right away." she slipped her arms around the snake's neck, holding him close more for show than for affection.

"Well," said Shigure darkly. "If you'd rather walk with Aya than me, I guess I'll just be leaving..." he turned to go, but Akito scrambled off of Ayame to reach for the dog.

'Don't leave me..." she said, sounding upset. "We'll all go on a walk. You and me and Aya. Right?"

How could they refuse?

She walked between them, holding onto each of their hands. She was so tiny that from behind she'd likely be mistaken for a toddler. Not that Shigure or Ayame were particularly tall; Hatori was already a head above both of them. The young doctor said they'd hit growth spurts soon, but Ayame had his doubts.

"Where are we going?" Ayame asked, trying to remain upbeat. This was good, he told himself. Good to get out of the stuffy old house. And he'd missed spending time with Shigure.

"To the smaller garden," Shigure replied. "Not the vegetable one, the flower one."

It was a nice place to go in the summer, shaded by the cherry trees their gardeners worked so hard to maintain. Ayame wasn't worried about transforming today; it was a mild heat. The snake in him was already stretching out to enjoy the sunshine.

Akito seemed to know where they were headed and she tugged them both behind her with her arms stretching. Ayame found it was rather cute.

Then he caught Shigure's expression out of the corner of his eye, and froze. The dog wasn't just annoyed... he was _furious. _His eyes flashed with undisguised hatred- directed at Ayame. When he saw that he'd been discovered, he composed his face into a smirk and a shrug, but Ayame had already caught a glimpse at what lay underneath.

A maid sat in a lawn chair on the soft grass surrounding the koi pond. Before her on a blanket played little Kagura and Isuzu. Isuzu had just learned to roll over from her back to her stomach, and she demonstrated her new talent with a wide, toothless grin.

"Oh," the maid said, springing to her feet with a bow when she saw them approach. "Young masters... and Lord Akito! I was just taking the babies out for some fresh air, but if you'd prefer to have the place to yourselves, we can be on our way..."

"You may go," Akito dismissed the woman casually. "But leave them."

Bowing a second time, the woman hustled off obediently leaving the remaining five to their garden.

Akito pulled from her pocket a ball, just barely too big for her hand. It was a pretty thing, wooden and painted with thin maroon and gold lines in a pattern of flower petals.

"Kureno gave it to me," Akito said, when she noticed Ayame looking. Was he imagining it, or did the child glance at Shigure for a reaction? "Catch," she said, and Ayame's reflexes grabbed the ball from the air before he'd registered her intent. Smiling, he tossed it at Shigure. They played like this for a while until Kagura grew interested in their game and stood on unsteady legs to wander over to them. She was doing well, but must have gotten tired halfway through and started to fall.

Akito dropped her ball to catch the young boar by her shoulders, holding her upright, and Ayame was surprised to see a look of genuine concern cross her face.

Kagura blinked, and then smiled brightly, dimples pressing into her round baby-cheeks. "Aki," she babbled.

Akito looked her relative over curiously. Kagura was small and stout in her pink shorts and white t-shirt patterned with little hearts. Her sneakers matched, and small ribbons bound her brown hair up into pigtails. She was unbearably cute.

"Ugly," Akito said, so suddenly that everybody jumped. "Girls are _ugly_. And stupid."

She shoved the toddler away from herself and Kagura fell, hard, onto her backside. She stared up uncomprehendingly at her God for a moment before her bottom lip popped out and started to tremble.

"Shut up!" Akito snarled when Kagura let out a howl, covering her ears with her hands. "Be quiet, pig!"

Kagura reached for Akito's trouser leg, and the four-year-old slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me with those filthy hands."

When Kagura continued to wail, Akito demanded, "_do _something."

Ayame knelt down beside the boar, who clung to him. "There, there," he said, unsure how exactly to care for a child. "It's alright, Kagura..." he patted her back soothingly, and soon enough her cries faded to sniffles.

"No," Akito said softly behind him, and he looked up and followed her gaze to where Shigure knelt on the blanket, picking up Isuzu. He acted as if he couldn't hear her.

"Look, Akito," he said, holding up the infant. "Isn't she the most beautiful baby you've ever seen? Such a pretty girl."

The pain in Akito's face just then took Ayame's breath away; the rope that strangled his heart gave a sharp tug.

"You... think she's pretty?" Akito asked.

"Isn't she just!" Shigure was smiling fit to burst. "She's closely related to your mother, isn't she? A first cousin. I bet she'll look _just _like her when she grows up."

"Shigure," Ayame said, aghast. "What are you-"

"My mother… _Ren _isn't pretty!" Akito protested, stomping her foot in frustration. "Not at all... don't look at her with eyes like that!"

She reached for the dog's face and he had to drop Isuzu to hold her back, keep her fingernails from his eyes. Isuzu thudded sharply against the blanketed grass and shrieked. Horrified, Ayame hustled to snatch up the baby, looking her over for injuries. "You two-" he said, appalled. "You can't just.."

But they were already in their own little world. Shigure cradled Akito's face in his hands as he'd been doing since she was born, his eyes staring deep into hers. It was as if they had their own language, communicating something Ayame couldn't understand.

Finally, Akito sank limply against Shigure's chest. "I'm tired," she said. "Let's go back inside."

Slipping his arms underneath her legs, Shigure held her tenderly to his chest and began to walk back to the main estate. After a while, Ayame followed suit, holding the whimpering Isuzu in one arm and taking Kagura's hand in his free one to escort them back to the maids. It had been a bizarre, emotionally draining afternoon.

But the day's unpleasant occurrences weren't yet finished. As he walked up the road from the main estate back to his and Hatori's house, he saw in the distance a vehicle pull up into the driveway of _his_ old home.

The driver emerged from the front seat and came around to open the door for his passengers. Ayame's stepdad, tall and plain as ever, slid out first before offering his arm to his wife.

Ayame considered turning around or closing his eyes. He'd avoided so much as looking at his mother the past couple of years. The absolute _indifference _whenever she came into contact with her "useless" son was more than he could bear.

But something kept him watching the car, even as he ducked behind a tree to avoid being seen. Though still wearing an attractive pantsuit and high heels, Juuri's belly ballooned out wide. He hadn't seen her in six months since her trip to Spain, and now he realized the truth.

"What's eating you?" Hatori asked when he slid into bed that evening. Agitated, Ayame had taken up his embroidery loop and thread and was punching the needle through the stiff fabric with intense vigor. "And don't lose that needle in my bed again."

"Pregnant," Ayame spat bitterly. "She's _pregnant_? What, she just decided to move on and replace me, _child re-do, just add semen_?"

"Aya," Hatori said wearily.

"No, no, it's no big deal," Ayame said. "What do I care what that bitch does? She wants to start her life over, forget she ever had me, create a perfect little minion who follows her every whim? Good for her!"

He jabbed the needle into his palm and swore loudly. With a groan, Hatori went to fetch a bandage.

"Bet it's one of us," Ayame muttered sourly. "Wouldn't that be perfect? Then she wins. She gets a fresh start with another zodiac member and gets to forget all about me."

"I highly doubt that," Hatori said, removing the bandage's wrappers to cover his friend's bleeding puncture. "I don't think there's anything in the family archives about Jyuunishi siblings. And we've had two births in a row, so I bet there'll be a few years before we see another one."

Ayame sighed. "Perhaps you're right," he said quietly, sinking back into his pillows. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the comfortable, familiar sounds of Hatori undressing and slipping under the covers. Through his eyelids he saw the light go out.

After a moment he sat up excitedly and flicked the lamp back on. "Tori! What if it's the _cat_?"

"What?" Hatori opened his eyes, looking a little annoyed.

Ayame laughed jovially. "Oh, it'd be perfect. Splendid!" he clapped his hands, bouncing on the mattress.

"Aya, what are you talking about?" Hatori asked.

"Just think," Ayame said dreamily. "Picture the scene. You've safely delivered a squalling infant, two months early as always, and she holds her arms out expectantly anticipating another tool for money and fame. She cradles her child... and _poof_. It's the filthy, disgusting cat." He laughed again, loud and boisterous, feeling slightly manic and closer to tears or throwing punches than anything. "They'll kick her out, won't they? Cut her bank access? She'll lose her good name; that's for sure."

Hatori was staring at him now, something weary and disappointed in his eyes.

"What is it?" Ayame asked, sobering.

Hatori shrugged. "You just don't wear bitterness very well, is all," he said.

He was in the office a few weeks later when the phone call arrived. "Two months early?" Hatori clarified, talking into the receiver. "You're sure. I see. I'll be on my way."

He was carefully avoiding eye contact with Ayame when he stepped outside to see the snake standing at his door, clearly hearing every word.

"It's her, isn't it?" Ayame asked, knowing without a doubt.

"Aya... " Hatori groaned, frustrated. "I hate that look on your face. It's not... _you_." He slid into his scrubs, belted his coat at the waist. "I need to go."

Ayame watched him disappear down the driveway, feeling as if a swarm of moths were beating at his insides with their fuzzy, drab wings.

He tried not to think about it. About the bad times, or the good. When she would catch her son watching her dress herself with a critical eye in the mirror, following the latest trends with a passion that bordered on obsession.

"Fashion is a shield," she'd told him. "Never let the enemies know if you're wounded; the more you shine on the outside the safer your inside will be. Beauty intimidates the weak and makes the strong open doors."

He tried to forget how much he'd done for her approval, mastering the sewing machine with the assistance of several covert maids. To this day he'd never felt a pride greater than when a hint of approval would show on her face when she viewed one of his creations.

But she never stayed happy for long.

Itching for something to do, Ayame set up his sewing machine on Hatori's kitchen table. It had been a while- the top was all dusty. Plugging it in, he searched the house in vain for any materials to use. What did he think, that Hatori just kept yards of fabric around? The workoholic wouldn't have _food _if the maids didn't regularly stock the cupboards.

Sighing in frustration he snatched a shirt from the closet and pulled a seam ripper from his basket of tools, setting to work on taking the entire thing apart.

By the time Hatori had returned, Ayame was feeling significantly better. Before him lay a ladies black silk hat complete with feather trim.

"Is... is that my shirt?" Hatori asked, pointing to what remained of the buttons.

"It didn't fit right," Ayame said with a shrug. He thought it might be best to leave out where he found the feathers.

"I... ok. Whatever." He undressed, and Ayame tried not to notice the red sleeves. Was it... a _lot_ of blood? Was his mother...?

"Not that I care," he said aloud, "but how did it go?"

"She's fine." Hatori sank into one of the chairs beside Ayame. "Not that you care. I know."

He forlornly eyed the cup Ayame had been drinking tea from, and with a smile Ayame got up to prepare a fresh pot. Hatori would never say it, but he liked Aya's tea best.

"So..." Ayame said from the kitchen as he put the kettle on the stove. "Well. Tori-san, don't be so shy. Do tell."

"What if I don't want to? You can just find out from the maids anyway; they're still half a step from epileptic fits right now, but soon they'll be gabbing to everybody."

Ayame felt as if a hot stone had gone down his throat and thudded to a stop in his belly. _It _must_ be the cat, if they were so worked up about it_...

"Shigure's not happy; since for once Akito's fawning over something other than him."

_Fawning _over? That was a strange reaction.

"You're not gonna like this, Aya," Hatori warned when the snake kept looking at him, expectantly.

The kettle whistled, and he poured the hot water into a mug through the little strainer clipped at the top.

"It's the rat," Hatori finally admitted, and cringed when his friend dropped the pot entirely, painting the cabinets with rose-tinted drips. "I timed thatpoorly," he muttered to himself as he got up to fetch a napkin. "But yes. Ayame; your baby brother is the rat."

"That..." Ayame stuttered, for once at a loss for words. "That's not... _No!_" he said the last so loudly that he upset the mug, which thankfully lost its contents into the sink. "The _rat_?! What... why..." he laughed until he sank to his knees, red-faced and shaking. " Oh. Oh, well, that's just perfect. Let me guess; Lord Akira's proposed to her as well, given her access to the entire family's fortune, made her adoptive mother of Akito?"

"Um; no, partially, and no," Hatori answered the slightly hysterical questions in order.

The _rat_. The favored, the lucky, the one closest to God. And his _mother _had given birth to it. Her status and wealth had, in one labor, increased to rise without limits. There was virtually nothing she or anyone else could do to so much as dent her reputation.

"Oh, excellent, Hatori," Ayame said. "Why don't you just lead me to our little messiah? I'm fresh out of gold but perhaps I can dig up some frankincense to offer."

"Ayame, stop it. You sound like your mother when you get all vindictive and petty."

"Oh, but shouldn't that be the standard we all strive for? _What would Juuri Do. _I think we should start building a shrine to her, don't you?"

"I can't deal with this," Hatori muttered, leaving the room. "Go do whatever you want; leave me out of it."

Half blind with sharp emotion, he threw his most flamboyant coat- deep violet, patterned with animalistic spots- over his shoulders and stormed out into the sunshine, yanking out the tie that held his hair up as he did so. It swished down around him like a small cape, and he walked with a sway in his hips.

_Fashion is our shield._

"Congratulations!" inner-circle members crowed as he past them. "Congratulations on your brother, Ayame! You must be so proud." He laughed and waved and smiled until his teeth ached. He didn't stop until he reached the edges of the woods, where the smile melted off like hot butter.

He never looked more inhuman than when he was within these woods. The dense trees blocked much of the sunlight and yet his eyes still glowed, a deep golden. His hair shone as well, and his white skin, dappled green by the light. In these woods, he was a predator, something not quite real. Something perhaps seen in the darkest pages of a child's fairy tale.

"Whoa, now that's a scary face."

It was Shigure, leaning against a tree and puffing on a white cigarette. Several butts littered the dried leaves around him, just itching to start a fire.

"Since when do you smoke?" Ayame asked, trading some of his fury for surprise.

"I sure as hell do now," was the reply, not quite answering the question. "Pissed about your mom?"

"No," Ayame lied, picking his way over the leaves to stand beside the dog.

"Yeah, you are," Shigure ribbed with a grin, bumping his hip into Ayame's. "It's ok. Besides, you look kinda hot when you're angry."

There was something dark underneath the purr of Shigure's voice. Perhaps just the smoke of the cigarette.

"Misery loves company," the dog continued brightly. He held out the half-finished cigarette to Ayame, who wrinkled his nose.

"C'mon, it'll make you feel better," Shigure coaxed. "Here."  
Cupping Ayame's jaw, he moved their faces close together and then took a long drag on the cigarette. His lips parted and a stream of silvery smoke poured from his mouth into Ayame's, their bottom lips bumping for one charged moment.

The snake tried to hold it in his lungs like he'd seen long-time smokers do, but he couldn't for very long and had to cough.

The aftertaste was sweeter than he expected, _very _sweet.

"Gure," he said, and then didn't finish. _It's just a cigarette, right_? He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. Already he was feeling dizzy.

"Lightweight," Shigure said, with a warm smile in his voice. He seemed more pleasant than he had in months, and he wrapped an arm around Ayame's shoulders to steady him.

"Missed you, Gure," Ayame said, feeling a bit dizzy. He'd nearly forgotten his anger entirely.

"I haven't gone anywhere," said his friend. "Ouch."

The cigarette had burned his fingers; he dropped it and ground it out with his heel.

"No, you haven't. You've been _here_, but not... here." he touched his fingers to Shigure's forehead. "You're so far away when we're together."

"Oh," Shigure looked interested. "I see." he paused for a moment, and then sank to his backside, dragging Ayame down with him. "Well I'm here now."

They sat together quietly, listening to the sounds of the forest around them.

"This is _the _forest, you know," Shigure said, his voice taking on the quality of a story unfolding. Ayame wriggled in closer. He _loved _Shigure's stories.

"This part of Japan used to be on a mountain. Hundreds and _thousands _of years ago. When people still lived only in small traveling groups and followed game across the countryside year-round to keep their families fed.

"Animals were different then. They've become stupid now. But once upon a time they were magnificent; smart and brave as humans. They too had kings and queens to lead them. Thirteen kings and queens, to be exact."

Ayame grinned, seeing what his cousin was getting at.

"God lived on earth too back then. But she was so lonely. Nobody would talk to her; they left her all by herself, in these beautiful woods. They'd never admit it, but she frightened them."

"But not the animals" Ayame supplied. "They weren't afraid of her."

"Obviously not. The people were just stupid. God was so grateful that she invited the animals to a feast..."

"I don't remember God being a woman in the story," Ayame yawned.

"Well, that's because people are _still _stupid. They tell the story all wrong."

Ayame was only half-listening as the familiar telling of the twelve animals- minus the cat- began a banquet to last forever with God.

"Selfish rat," he mumbled, half asleep already. "Causing trouble for everybody."

"You're telling me," Shigure replied. "Looks like Yuki is Akito's new toy."

"Yuki?" Ayame asked, not recognizing the name. Shigure blinked, and then laughed out loud.

"You should probably know your own brother's name," he snorted. "Wow, our family is fucked up. He looks like you. For a baby, anyway. Pale as an iris. With a cute widdle pointy face."

"So he looks like Juuri, then," Ayame said, distancing himself already. "That's not too surprising. Genetics."

Shigure lit up another one of the strange cigarettes. The box wasn't a store-bought one; just a tin in his pocket. Suspicions wiggled in Ayame's mind, but he pushed them away.

"Aya," Shigure said. "Do you-"

He paused for a minute, presumably to think over what to say, but he never finished his sentence. Instead, still wearing his trademark smirk, he bent over to kiss his friend on the mouth.

Ayame froze, eyes wide open, even after Shigure pulled away. Though they pretended to flirt on a regular basis, mostly to amuse their school friends (and to annoy Hatori) with a bit of a scene, this wasn't a show. There was no audience, no over-the-top jokes, no swooning or faked groping. This was two boys alone in the woods with an odd-tasting smoke lingering on their lungs, and Ayame had no idea how to feel about that.

"Well?" Shigure asked, and Ayame knew him well enough to understand. Feeling blissfully empty, he leaned up to return the kiss.

***.***

Hatori left his office at a little past one, yawning. He stripped out of his clothes as he walked down the hallway, leaving them in messy piles wherever they happened to fall. Socks, tie, shirt, trousers... by the time he got to his room he was in nothing but boxers.

He was surprised to find no head of white hair next to his pillow. Peeking around the corner into Ayame's bedroom yielded the same result. The snake was clearly not in the house, awake or asleep.

Suddenly no longer tired, Hatori slipped back into his trousers and headed outside to look around. There was no sign of him.

_He's fine, _he told himself.

Still, the dragon found he could get no rest until the morning sun rose.

***.***

When Juuri Sohma awoke the next morning, she was surprised to find a black silk hat next to her pillow. There was no note, but she would have recognized the fine craftsmanship anywhere.

***.***

**This chapter was **_**much **_**easier to write than the last. I didn't do any art for this chapter, but I did write a New Years furuba fic- just a short one. (I also got some fun questions on tumblr about my opinions on various characters that I ended up writing mini-essays trying to answer. ^_^; ) Thank you for the support! (Note: the next chapter is gonna be **_**long**_**. There's no getting around it. And there's gonna be SEX. Fair warning…) -JS**


	5. Year of the Rabbit: Momiji Sohma

Year of the Rabbit: Momiji Sohma

April 3 1989

**Repression (noun): **a mental process by which distressing thoughts, memories, or impulses are excluded from consciousness

**(Warning: aggressive, intoxicated sexual foreplay (and implied aftermath); depression and suicidal thoughts; children in peril.)**

*.*

Hatori loved books. Not in the hungry way that Shigure devoured them, nearly tearing them apart in his haste to harvest their stories. No, he loved them with a quiet, warm place in his heart. He loved how they seemed to block out the world when it became too much. Like Shigure, he enjoyed stories- perhaps less fantastical, eyebrow-raising tales than his younger cousin, but he liked to be taken away by their whispered secrets.

Tonight he had a date with a navy-blue tome's frayed pages, thin as breath. Also a bowl of noodles, and a slice of pie if he was feeling particularly adventurous.

Ayame disapproved.

"Tori, I must protest to this indecent withering of your youth." he said, yanking the book from Hatori's hands. "What even is this? _Tolstoy_? Look at you. _Look _at you." he pulled the much taller boy over to the ornate- if dusty- mirror his mother had set up long ago in the hallway. Taking Hatori's frowning face in one hand, he angled it, showing off the sharp cheekbones, nice skin, and angular nose. "Do you think someone with a face such as this should be hiding behind paper and ink?"

"Cut it out." Hatori pushed the petite teenager off of him. "I don't get nights to myself very often; let me spend it how I want."

"_Please_, Tori. Let me dress you up. Let me take you out. Let me show you off!"

"I'm not a _toy_, Ayame!" he snapped, feeling irritated. "If you want to go out with that mutt and kill whatever brain cells you have left at those orgies like you do every weekend, go right ahead. But I'm not interested."

"Orgy?" Ayame puffed up his chest importantly, looking affronted. "I'll have you know that the clubs we visit are _most _reputable..."

Hatori glanced pointedly at the round marks dotting the snake's creamy throat, and a purple one directly in the hollow between his collarbones. "Could've fooled me. You're the class president; show some decorum." He'd won the election by a landslide on popularity alone; nobody seemed to notice or care that Hatori did all the work and Ayame was little more than a narcissistic, noisy figurehead. The only thing Ayame ever seemed to take seriously anymore was his art; his skills grew to the point where he was entering his pieces into competitions and winning prizes more often than not. He'd caught the interest of a local tailor, who'd taken him under his wing.

Something flashed on Aya's face for a second and it made Hatori's stomach clench in regret: _hurt_. It was smoothed over quickly enough by his normal smile.

"Tori, mon ami," Aya had to stand on the very tips of his toes to nip the dragon's earlobe. "_Please_..."

The door behind them creaked open.

"Well this looks like fun. Should I leave, or am I invited to join?"

Shigure stood in the front entryway of Hatori's house, shoulders braced against the door and a cocky smirk forever on his face. Around his finger he twirled a set of jingling keys.

Ayame bounced over to his side, grinning ear-to-ear."Gure! It seems your endeavor was successful. Tell me: did you poison him? _Seduce _him?"

"Do I even _want _to know..." Hatori started to ask, and Ayame shared an elaborate retelling of their plans to steal a driver's keys. Shigure concluded by adding, "I just swiped them from his bag when he was at the toilet."

"Oh." Ayame looked a little disappointed.

"You're not _seriously _going to drive... you don't even have a license..."

It was no use. There was never any stopping them, not when they were revved up with fire in their eyes. He saw it blazing now.

"If you're certain you don't want to join us..." Ayame said, pouting his lips in a way that seemed to work on everyone but Hatori.

"I'm not interested."

Ayame gave up, leaving the house for the car parked in front, and Shigure followed suit. He threw a lingering glance over his shoulder at Hatori as he did so: like Akito, Shigure had the uncanny ability to pierce straight through any armor with those eyes. _I see you_, his smirk said. _I see right through you._

No doubt he knew the anxiety Hatori felt whenever asked to participate in any group activity. Of course he did: the bastard knew everything.

Grouchily, Hatori rubbed off his slightly damp ear. Ayame must have been wearing some sort of gloss, he thought. It tingled warmly.

He eased down on the worn black sofa with his feet on the coffee table, listing to the soft whirr of the electric fan plugged in nearby, and flicked open his book.

Not even ten pages in, the shill ring of the telephone pierced the air. The dragon's shoulders stiffened and his eyes creased in exasperation. _Of course._

"What is it now, Akito?" he grumbled to himself, tossing his book aside and shuffling slowly to the kitchen. The nine-year-old had become quite the hypochondriac lately, calling him for everything, but Hatori didn't have it in him to be angry with her. She was obviously lonely and bored in that big house with nobody but maids for company. Shigure, always up to his little games, had been giving her the cold shoulder lately.

He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. "Yes?"

"Hey, Ha'ri!" it took him a moment to place the voice- it was his uncle, Hideki. Hideki was about as unlike his sister as possible- absentminded, scatterbrained. He'd gone away on a business trip to Europe some years ago and had come back with empty pockets and a wife.

Emmaline Kirsch might as well have been a pariah in the Sohma family when Hideki first brought her home. "She's so _strange_," maids whispered, shocked by her strange clothing and gravelly language. They stared openly at what she ate ("So _rich_!") and startled at the way she laughed ("So _loud_!") Nobody but Hideki ever seemed to talk to her at all.

Hatori's heart had sunk like a stone when, four years ago, he'd gotten a phone call. _Emmaline is in labor, _he was told. _She's two months early._

He hadn't known what exactly to do when she screamed in terror at the rabbit in her arms. She barely spoke any Japanese, and he didn't know a single word of German. Luckily, they both knew enough French to manage a tenuous communication. The shock had hit her hard and she'd never quite recovered. Though her social standing had risen considerably by mothering a Jyuunishi, she could frequently be seen wandering the main estate in a daze, eyes wide, hair tangled and matted.

"Good evening, uncle," Hatori said into the phone. "Do you need something?" He found it best to be direct with Hideki; the man tended to ramble if left unguided.

"We've, ah, come to a decision," Hideki replied after a pause. Hatori could envision him fidgeting with his collar as he was wont to do when he felt anxious. "Lord Akito and I. We believe Emmaline's memories should be erased."

A swoop of sickness tumbled in Hatori's belly. _No, not again..._

"What do you mean, uncle?" he asked, hoping his voice wouldn't shake.

"She's _heartsick_, Ha'ri. This can't go on; I can't stand it any longer. Ever since that thing was born..."

"That thing."

"What? I... oh, I'm sorry, Ha'ri. I know you're..."

"What exactly are you asking me to do?" Hatori asked, fearing the worst.

Hideki cleared his throat and made a few vague _hems _and _haws_. "I… well, to be frank: _we_ want you to come to our house tomorrow and erase Emmaline's memories of Momiji- _all _of them."

Hatori's eyes bugged wide, and he stared at the phone in his hand as if expecting maggots to crawl from the receiver. "What?" he choked. "No, that's ridiculous. Why not… has she considered returning to Germany?"

Hideki snorted. "Her family disowned her the second they heard she eloped with a Japanese man."

"A mental hospital, then. A house in the countryside. You don't _have _to stay in the Sohma; just let the maids watch after Momiji until she feels better..." _Don't ask me to…_

"Hatori. Lord Akito _ordered _this. Do you want me to tell him you have a problem with this? Perhaps _you'd _like to discuss this with him."

A surge of heat broke out across Hatori's chest. "I..." he remembered the animals he'd once destroyed, twitching and forever lost. He felt appalled and sick to his very core but… within the deepest recesses of his soul he did not have it in him to refuse God.

The dragon inside him slumped, defeated.

"I'll be over tomorrow, sir," he said, and pulled the jack out of the socket.

*.*

He took his time picking his way over to the main estate the next afternoon. Akito had school, and he was grateful that she seemed to be attending fairly regularly the past few months- otherwise, it wouldn't have been surprising for her to demand watching the spectacle.

He was let inside, and the door was partially closed behind him. Hideki seemed in the utmost haste to usher the dragon to his bedroom.

It took Hatori's eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness; the blinds on the windows had been drawn and he fumbled blindly for a moment until he found a lamp.

Emmaline was there, crouched in the corner, staring at him like a wild animal in a cage. She wore a long nightgown and her arms were lined with long, angry-looking scratches.

"Hideki?" she called out fearfully when Hatori approached her.

"It's alright, Aunt Emmaline," Hatori said. He knew his height would make him more intimidating in this semi-darkness, so he squatted down onto his haunches before her. "You remember me, don't you?"

She stared at him for a moment, and he felt uncomfortable as her cornflower eyes roved over his features."Hatori?" she asked finally, reaching out as if to touch him, then changing her mind and pulling back. Her hands shook.

"Why don't you let me look at your arms?" he asked, gently taking one of her elbows. The scratches looked as if they might become infected. She pulled away and he let her; they could wait and he didn't want to upset her further.

"Emmaline," he said when the silence stretched. It was stuffy in here, like the two windows that made up the far wall hadn't been opened in ages. "Uncle tells me he wants your memories of… of your son to be erased. And Akito wants that, too. But tell me… what do _you _want? There are other ways- maybe you could take some time…" He didn't care what anyone said; he _couldn't _do this, not if she was unwilling. There had to be some hope…

"Hatori, please..." Her Japanese had improved during her years with the Sohma, but her accent was still quite thick. Her eyes were puffy and red from tears, but he didn't see them blink once.

"Won't you regret it?" he asked, desperation edging in his voice. _Please don't make me do this. Please don't..._ "It can't be undone."

"Regret," she laughed harshly, her hands crossing across her chest and her nails piercing her arms again. "The only regret I have is having given birth to _that creature_."

At the painful words, his mind closed like the lens to a camera. It was an automatic, defensive habit of his that had developed over the years- letting himself be run on autopilot, letting The Doctor take over and leaving Hatori in cold storage.

"Understood." Why stretch this misery out longer? He placed a hand on her forehead. His palm was large enough to cover the top half of her face entirely with his fingers curled in her strange golden hair. Below his wrist he could feel her mouth turning up in a quavering smile.

"Danke, Hatori, _danke..._"

_Like removing a tumor_. He could hear his father's voice so clearly he may as well have been standing behind him, whispering in his ear. But this _wasn't _like a tumor; this was no single memory, no tiny moment to be sliced neatly from the ebb and flow of the human brain. This was nearly five years of brown eyes and floppy ears, of diaper changes and breast milk and labor pains, pastel-colored nursery walls and rubber duckies and a tiny hand in hers.

He took them all, scrubbing away some things and cutting out what he could. Some memories were so deeply entrenched in the folds of her brain that he could only bury them underneath others- to alter them in any way would be to break her brain entirely.

It wasn't long before he was so deep within her hippocampus that the slightest mistake, the tiniest distraction, could cost her dearly. He couldn't feel the heavily-lashed brown eyes watching sadly from the doorway, and he didn't see the child being lead away by a maid, never to return to his home and family again.

His eyes fluttered open at long last when the sun begun to sink into dusk. Hideki was dozing on the bed facing them and Emmaline was leaning heavily against his shoulder. He carefully moved her to the floor, wary of transforming.

He cleared his throat, and Hideki startled awake. "Oh, Hatori," he said. "So you're done, then? It's... it's over?"

"Yes, sir." Hatori felt bone-tired, the kind of exhausted sleep couldn't fix. "She won't remember anything... some memories aren't buried very deep though; it'd be best to keep her away from any triggering things."

"Yes, yes, of course," Hideki looked overjoyed, and climbed down to gather his wife in his arms. "We'll be moving soon, back to our old house on the fringes of the Sohma. You can make it home by yourself, right?" His awareness of Hatori's presence was decreasing by the second; he ignored the teenager's week-kneed struggle to stand back up.

"Yes, sir."

"Good, good," his uncle said, not looking up as he made his way to the hallway. "Oh, Emmaline, it's going to be ok. I told you I could make the bad things go away."

_Figures, _Hatori thought numbly. _But I suppose you wouldn't expect someone to thank a gun or a knife either, would you?_ On shaking legs he stumbled from the house and into the night outside. His house was fairly close to the main estate for convenience - the doctor must always be close at hand to attend the family Lord after all- but he was feeling lightheaded.

He didn't know exactly when he'd collapsed, or how long he lay on the ground before he was hefted over burly shoulders, his legs dragging on the ground behind him.

*.*

"How long're you gonna sleep?" a finger poked his cheek; his pillow moved uncomfortably underneath his head. The room reeked of alcohol."Seriously, Ha'ri, I'm not really one for cuddling, so could you just..."

His hand shot up and grabbed the others on reflex, squeezing it hard.

"Hey hey; ow. I guess you're awake."

"What are you doing in my house, Shigure?" his throat was so dry it sounded like he was speaking through gravel.

"Wasn't having any luck after some party hopping; thought I'd come back home early; but mom gets pissed when I'm buzzed. I was surprised to find _you _on the ground, so I brought you home."

Hatori sat up and then groaned; his head hurt so much he felt as if _he_ were the one with a hangover. "Where's Aya?"

"Oh, don't worry about him," Shigure replied with a knowing grin. "Last I saw him he'd hit it off pretty well with somebody. He'd had a couple shots too many, but he seemed alright."

"What?!" electricity jolted down his spine, clearing away much of the fog. "You just let somebody take him _home _like that?"

"I doubt they made it home," Shigure said with a shrug. "Looked to me like they were headed towards the bathroom..."

"Are you _nuts_?" Hatori smacked the side of the dog's head. "Where is he? Take me there; we need to go get him. What if they hurt him, or..."

"Take it easy, Ha'ri," Shigure snickered. "Heck, I'd be joining him, but luck wasn't on my side tonight. Trust me: he's where he wants to be. Aya's a big boy; he can take care of himself."

"You _idiot_!" all fired up now, Hatori paced the room. "I can't _stand _you sometimes. _How _could you just... Aya can't..."

The stress and anger of the day fell over him like a wave. He wanted to scream; he felt like tearing his own hair out. He was exhausted and sore and disoriented and white-hot _furious_.

Shigure just watched this unusual display of emotion from the usually stoic doctor, tipsy and amused as ever. "Maybe not so unlucky," he muttered quietly to himself. Then, louder, "has anyone told you you look amazing when you let it out a bit?"

"What-" Hatori cocked his head and shook it hard, trying to clear away the cobwebs. "Shut up. _Tell _me where he is so I can send a driver after him. People _matter_, Shigure; they're not just something you can abandon!"

Shigure let out great peals of laughter at this, clapping his hands together like Hatori was a comedian on television. "Listen to yourself!" he chuckled. He stood from the sofa and crossed the room to pat Hatori on the back, bare feet shuffling on the old red rug. "You tryin' to be his mommy? Aya doesn't really want a mommy, if you couldn't tell. Try giving him what he _wants _sometime."

"You're useless," Hatori said, shrugging out from under his arm. "I'll find him myself."

He made for the door, but a hand at his belt pulled him back. "How're you gonna do that? Do you know how many gay bars and clubs are within a ten-mile radius from here? More than you'd think. And trust me," he slapped Hatori hard on the backside. "I know more'n a few regulars that would be killing themselves to get at your virgin charms. You look really out of it, Ha'ri. Think you can stand up to some really determined horndogs?"

Hatori scowled and stepped away from the dog. Heat was pooling in his arms, his chest…"I don't _care_. Ayame-"

Shigure lost his balance and stumbled into his chest. "S—Sorry," he slurred, but only slightly. Even under the influence he could be remarkably eloquent. He didn't right himself. Instead, still laughing, he used his upper body as a brace and pushed.

Hatori resisted, taking steps back until his knees hit the armchair opposite the sofa and he fell into it. Shigure crowed in triumph and sat none-too-gently on the older teen's lap.

"It's been a while since we've talked," he said conversationally even as he pinned Hatori's shoulders to the faded black cushions. "You seem down."

"I'm not in the mood for games, Shigure!" Hatori said, struggling. His knee brushed something hard and Shigure stiffened; then his face fell onto the dragon's shoulder.

"Easy with the goods, love," he huffed, sounding breathless.

Realization crashed over Hatori like a wave, and he shoved Shigure off of him onto the floor. "Disgusting!" he protested.

"How can someone who's delivered as many babies as you be so innocent?" Shigure snickered, propping himself onto one elbow. "You have to know where they came from. I just don't understand; you keep that fuckable piece of ass in your bed every night and you've never _once_-"

"Don't talk about Aya that way!" Hatori said. The fight-or-flight response was singing in his veins and the dragon lifted its head inside him, wearing a terrible, fanged grin.

"Oh, but he's _so good_!" Shigure used Hatori's legs to drag himself to his feet, and then leaned over him. "_God_, his pretty little mouth. You can't tell me you've never imagined stuffing it down his throat. Lined with wet silk, it feels like. And he makes such pretty noises…"

Hatori stared at the dog. In the back of his mind, a faint image, a long-repressed dream, took unbidden shape. _Hair the color of moonlight woven between his fingers, yanking back the small face, sucking bruises onto puffy lips_… Shigure was far too good at pushing buttons.

The teenager, sensing a small victory, yanked Hatori to his level by the collar of his shirt and crashed their mouths together. Teeth clacked and someone's skin tore, flooding their tongues with copper. Hatori snarled and flung him away again, feeling out of control as he threw himself off the chair and onto Shigure, driving his fist hard into the boy's gut. Shigure yelped in pain, and then laughed. His kicking feet skittered over the rug, bunching it up, and then he rolled them over. His shaggy dark hair tickled the dragon's nose.

"_There_ he is," he guffawed, eyes welling with pained tears. "There you are, Ha'ri! I see you." He cupped the dragon's face and kissed him again; the cut on Hatori's lip stung. "You think I don't see it? The anger in your eyes, every second of every day? _Do it_, Ha'ri! Get mad."

Hatori was all dragon now when he stood, hauling the shorter teen with him to spin him face-first into the wall, which shook from the impact

"Yes! Yes!" Shigure's laughter was sounding manic now. "All anyone ever sees is Ha'ri, the good boy who does his work and follows orders. Nothing but the little Sohma tool. But I see you! I see everything."

He ground his backside into Hatori's groin- quick, electric pulses of his hips. "Gonna do it, Ha'ri? Gonna teach me my lesson? Put me in my place like you've always wanted?"

He removed one of the hands from his waist and guided it down his own trousers. Using Hatori's fingers like a glove he squeezed himself and whimpered, head falling backwards onto the taller boy's chest. He panted, little whines catching in his throat.

The blood in Hatori's ears whooshed as he gripped Shigure's fat cock in his hand. As if on instinct he flicked his thumb over the velvety tip, feeling the wetness there. The golden-tan throat was on display and he resisted the urge to tear into it, instead only nipping sharply. The dragon inside him melted, sending bursts of flame through his veins with every beat of his heart. Grabbing Shigure by the scruff he half-dragged the mutt to his bedroom and tossed him on his bed. The dog bounced twice, needing no encouragement to strip off his remaining clothing as quickly as possible.

He was whimpering like a pup in heat as he fisted his own heavy cock and cried out in protest when Hatori took his wrist, holding him back. "_No,_" Hatori ordered. His voice had gone very deep. "You won't rut yourself off like that. You don't cum until I say you can." He flipped him over onto his chest, grabbed his bare hips to raise his ass high into the air, and spread him open with his large doctor's hands. The skin was quite pliable and shuddered wonderfully under his rough palms.

Shigure had grown very still at the order, for once obedient, but still crying out desperately. "Finally; if I'd known this was what it took to shut you up…" Hatori purred, still in his deep voice. He scratched his nails softly, stroking the tanline that ended just at the dog's hips, and Shigure shivered deliciously. He was utterly decadent like this; the very picture of a debauched, troublesome party boy- golden-skinned and tasting of irresponsibility and undeserved wealth. A full-calorie meal for a starving man.

He circled Shigure's hole with an index finger, barely touching him, watching it quiver and twitch in anticipation. "Now," he said. The grin on his face wasn't a nice one at all. "How shall we begin?"

*.*

In the early hours of the morning, when the earth was still gray and slightly misty outside, the floor creaked ever-so-slightly under socked feet. Long white hair swished at his belt, though he had to hold his slightly-torn trousers up. Ayame Sohma pushed open the door to Hatori's bedroom, yawning and ready to drift off to sleep.

Awakened, perhaps by the creaking or maybe by the cool draft that blew in from the hallway, Hatori Sohma's wild eyes fluttered open and met the bloodshot ones of Ayame. He observed vaguely that he was sticky, and a little cold. The left half of his body was crushed under the weight of the passed-out dog. They were very naked, and through his sleep-hazed brain he observed that his spent cock was on display, pressed against Shigure's—

"O—oh, pardon me," Ayame stuttered, a kaleidoscope of emotion ranging across his face. Hatori was too exhausted, too _relieved _from such a release of hormones and stress to be able to properly assess the situation just yet. He was dragged back into sleep.

He didn't begin to guess the damage until, many hours later, he saw the sewing machine had been moved from the place it had taken permanent residence the past eleven years, and a shiny bare patch gleamed on his kitchen table. Not so much as a scrap or a spare button remained.

He and Shigure had thankfully showered- separately, and avoiding eye-contact- by the time Akito arrived.

"Ayame said he's moved out," she said, clutching at Kureno's elbow. "He didn't say why. But he was crying. _Why was he crying_?!"

She directed this last question to Shigure, scowling at him and trying hard to hide the trembling of her lower lip. She seemed to be pressing herself harder and harder into Kureno's chest, as if hoping she'd be swallowed up entirely inside him to be protected from all the fears in the world.

"How would I know?" Shigure asked. He was leaning against the wall, but with his hips angled away from it—he hadn't said anything, but Hatori could tell he was in some degree of pain. "Is he back at his mom's house?"

"No. He _left the Sohma property_." She looked seconds from beginning her newest tantrum; tears sparkled in her eyes, and rage. "You did something! I don't know what you did, but bring him back! My Jyuunishi can't leave me, they _can't_…"

She was gripping Kureno's wrist so hard her nails pierced the skin; he didn't so much as wince but stood there silently, eyes vacantly staring off into the distance. Hatori hadn't seen the younger boy in a while. Something about him seemed… off.

"We'll talk to him," Hatori promised. "Why don't you go play with Yuki for now?" Their God had recently purchased the rat from his mother, who used the proceeds to buy property on a private island several thousand miles away. He wondered if Ayame even knew that…

_Ayame_.

"_Damn _it!" he swore once she'd gone, feeling that same out-of-control sensation as last night, the one that made him want to crack skulls or fuck mercilessly, or both. _Anxiety. Frustration._ "Oh, G-God."

"You're telling me." Gingerly, Shigure sank down onto the sofa and let out a pained sound which he muffled with his hand. He leaned forward at the waist, burying his face in his hands and looking a bit green.

"This is my fault." Hatori couldn't stand still; he paced frantically from the front room to the back, and then returned. "But it's yours, too! _God_. He must be so mad at me. He saw us this morning… and you're his boyfriend, right?"

Shigure laughed. "Oh, Ha'ri," he said, patronizing as always. "You _are_ naïve. I'd think it was cute if you hadn't thoroughly rearranged my intestines last night."

Now in the kitchen, Hatori moved like a hurricane, grabbing a bag and a towel and some ice. "What are you _talking _about?" _stay busy, go on; don't puke._

He thrust the makeshift icepack into Shigure's hands, practically beaning him in the head with a bottle of Aspirin as well.

"Alright, Dense Ha'ri," Shigure was less fastidious than usual after throwing down some pills dry; perhaps because he was sore, or maybe in his own way he was worried about Ayame. Either way his taunting sounded more like out-and-out snapping at this point. "I'll try to explain this to you with little words for your little brain. Ayame likes parties. Ayame likes sex. Ayame likes dancing and shots and blunts. But he only loves _one _thing." He levied himself out of his chair, clutching the icepack hard to his backside as he did so. Patting Hatori on the back he made his way to the door. "Lets just say it isn't _my _name he calls when he cums. Hang in there, Ha'ri."

"Where are you going?" Hatori asked, and then his brain processed the dog's implication. "What- oh. _Oh_."

"Exactly," Shigure smiled, but it was a poor substitute for his usual obnoxious smirk. "I'm off to find our baby boy. Work on being a _little_ lessdense in the future, alright?"

*.*

The message on his answering machine that came shortly before five the following morning was quite short: "He's fine. He's staying with that tailor. He doesn't want to see you."

Hatori couldn't fall asleep again after hearing it; he replayed it several times, and suddenly his house felt much too small, too confining, too suffocating. Flinging the door open he stormed out onto the streets of his family's compound, searching for higher ground. The three stories of the main estate seemed as if they'd do nicely. Fueled by hormones and adrenalin and something a little less than human, it was little effort to clamber up the side of the wall that surrounded the compound, and from there, the roof.

The roof was sloped at a sharp angle to discourage snow settling on the old shingles during winter, with several attic windows poking up through here and there. Things felt a little better up here. Standing with his arms outstretched, filling his lungs to the fullest, he gulped for air like a fish. _What's _wrong _with me_, he thought. In the rising sun, the skin of his hands glowed a deep red. He thought of all the blood his hands had touched—the lives he had ushered into the world, the wounds he had bandaged in the hopes that, someday, it could make up for the stains that would never wash out.

_Mother. Father. Hoshi. _Their deaths had left their marks on him, tiny craters within that he tried to pack and fill with ice.

_No matter what I do, I will hurt someone, _he thought, feeling the warmth of the sun on his back. The children, with Yuki standing to the side, not even crying just looking so-

_Shattered_, broken shards in the rabbit's eyes as his mother and father were ripped out from other him. _Disgusting creature, horrible monster… _words that stabbed like—

_Icicles_ and frost and all things cold and distant when he'd had to sleep alone because he had broken the heart of maybe the only one who had ever truly loved him. _Ayame, I had no idea-_

Lies, lies, lies. He'd known all along. There was no way even one as dense as he could miss the perfectly hemmed and let-out seams of his clothing; the tea waiting for him when he most needed it. The hints glimpsed between seconds and around corners where for just a moment golden eyes would change into something softer. It was a gradual thing, so subtle he could pretend, even to himself, that he didn't see it.

"_You like it rough_?" Shigure had asked him as he buried himself to the hilt within his friend. "_You like to be on top? You like hurting people_?" He distinctly recalled the feel of his fingernails puncturing into the smaller teen's ribcage, drawing blood.

_Someone like me can't be forgiven, _he thought. It was a remarkably calm thought; just a notation on a list of facts. The sun was fading from intense red to softer orange, and the light touched everything below, making it look welcoming. Everything was so still and faraway; not so much as a ripple disturbed the koi pond. The forest looked like a dense blanket of deep green, soft as a cloud, and beyond that, white-capped mountains rose hazy in the mist.

Feeling completely numb, frozen to the core, he lowered his arms and nudged a pebble off the roof. A good few seconds passed before he heard it hit the ground below.

Carefully, he approached the edge. _What would it be like… _he thought, hardly daring to finish the sentence.

"Ha'ri!"

The voice made him startle, losing his balance and landing on his backside. On instinct he stopped his descent by burying his fingers hard into the solid slate. He stretched his legs until his toes touched the drainpipe that hung just below. With disbelieving eyes, he looked back at his hands, where his fingers no longer looked like his own. Many centimeters long, curved and black… _claws_?

"Ha'ri, help me…"

With his chin pressed to the shingles, it was difficult to move his head and follow the voice but he managed enough to see his cousin. Momiji had somehow managed to climb onto the roof, but seemed unable to ascend the sharply angled platform and remained precariously near the edge. The image of the small boy, barefoot and dressed messily in overalls with one twisted strap, made him sick to his stomach. "Momiji!" he said. "Hold still, I'm coming!"

It was a struggle to get his legs underneath him; his new and unexplained claws made horrible noises as they pierced the shingles easily as they would cheese.

Momiji's face was pure fear as he approached the little boy. Lunging, he grabbed his cousin by an overall strap and pulled him to his chest, holding him very tightly with one arm. Momiji let out a small sob of relief and clung to his older cousin, gripping him about the neck and waist with his scrawny arms and legs.

"What the _hell _are you doing here?" he snapped, more afraid than he could remember being before. He was squeezing much harder than necessary and Momiji cried out.

Remembering his claws, he looked down, but they were gone, leaving his own, knobby, scraped and bruised fingers. Fine blonde hairs tickled his nose. No longer petrified into stillness at his own immediate peril, the young rabbit sniffled and let out a cry.

"Ssh, calm down, you're fine," Hatori said, maneuvering to where the wall was. He had to sit on the edge of the roof and stretch his legs to the fullest before his heels touched the stones, and he stood up, breathing a sigh of relief when his balance held. He set Momiji down at the top and jumped down, bending his knees to absorb the impact before whirling around, holding his hands up.

For a moment, the rabbit hesitated_. _It was about a 150-centimeter drop from where he sat and Hatori's hands. He closed his eyes and held his breath before falling heavily into Hatori's outstretched arms, and the dragon swung him carefully to the grass under their feet.

Momiji was all eyes; round, chocolately brown ones that reminded Hatori of Kureno's; kind eyes, older than their years.

"What were you doing there, Momiji?" Now that they were both safely on the ground, he found that his hands were shaking violently. He had to clench them hard to stop.

"I saw you up there," Momiji replied. "You looked sad, so I went to get you. I'm real good at jumping so it wasn't hard... but I can't climb like Ritsu or run like Rin, so I guess I got a little stuck..."

"Don't ever do it again." The fear of what _could have been _knocked away everything that had happened to him that weekend, until he was entirely focused on the now. He realized with some surprise that he felt like _himself _again, in the span of just a few minutes. Gone were the strange thoughts and confusing feelings: he was _Hatori _for crying out loud- the one who solved problems and _never _caused them.

Hunching his little shoulders, Momiji crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest.

"Only if you promise too," he said, trying to do his best to match Hatori's scowl. His face wouldn't have intimidated a ladybug. "You promise never to climb back up there, and so will I."

Hatori hadn't been expecting this, and he cocked his head quizzically.

"Big boys can get hurt too," Momiji explained. "Everybody forgets that! But I won't. So, promise!"

"I..." _what can I say_? "I promise."

"Good!" Momiji's face wrinkled up into a big smile. "Me, too."

His stomach let out a growl and he blushed, suddenly shy. "Haha," he laughed. "I guess I forgot breakfast."

"Where are you staying?" Hatori asked.

"They've made up a room for me," he pointed to the estate. "That's why I saw you... I've got a big window so I saw your legs when you were climbing up..."

That was close to where Kureno lived, though at least Kureno had his father. Momiji was, no doubt, considered the responsibility of the help now

His stomach grumbled again.

"Listen," Hatori said, fumbling for the right words. _What do I say? 'I'm sorry I stole your parents from you?' _"I... I wondered if you want to come over to my house for breakfast? I don't know, I probably have something in the fridge." _Stupid. The maids probably have something planned for his meals..._

Momiji brightened, if possible, even more. "_Really_? Do you have ice cream?"

_For breakfast...?_

"Um, maybe." _I'll give you anything to stop the guilt that's eating me up inside._

His cousin was already walking away. "Well come on," he said. "We don't want it do defrozen without us!"

"That's 'defrost'," Hatori corrected. "And it won't... it's still in the freezer." He felt nervous somehow, like he had something to prove to the child that'd given him such a fright.

Momiji waited for him to catch up, and then slipped his hand into the doctor's much larger one. "We're friends, right Ha'ri?" he asked, serious once more.

_What a strange child, _Hatori thought. _Perhaps he's just lonely._

"Most people aren't friends with their doctors," he said, avoiding an answer.

"Well I won't be friends with you if you keep on trying to give me shots!" the blonde said, a little resentfully. "Those hurt! But I don't care if you're a doctor. And that Ritsu and Rin and Haru and Kagura think you're scary. You're not- you're nice."

They reached his house and he let them inside; Momiji looked around curiously, then flopped in the armchair looking as if he belonged there and had done so for as long as he could remember.

Feeling a little awkward, the dragon picked a few things off the floor- some books, an empty bowl... was that Shigure's sock?- and made his way to the kitchen to look for ice cream.

_Strange child, _he thought again, peeking around the corner to watch Momiji explore the room, lifting the knickknacks his parents had decorated with long ago. But he realized that he himself felt calmer than he had in a long time.

Hatori took a deep breath, held it for as long as he could, and then let it out slowly. He could get through this. He was needed, wasn't he? As long as somebody needed him, he could get through anything.

**Hi! So anyone following my tumblr will know that this chapter was basically hell to write. Looks like we've come over the halfway point of the story… I'm satisfied with it now, for the most part… though if I had more time way I'd probably CONTINUE to nitpick it to death. Did it turn out ok? Is it awful? Let me know; suggestions and criticisms give me life force. -JS**


	6. Year of the Dog: Shigure Sohma

Year of the Dog: Shigure Sohma

August 10 1995

**Banish (v):**to drive out or remove from a home or place

**(Warning: language; sexuality between an adult and a minor; unhealthy romantic manipulation; child trauma)**

*.*

Everybody knew the Sohma were fucked up. The wealthy families that sent out - usually rejected- marriage applicants; the poorer families they employed for maintenance- cleaning, gardening; the businesses and corporations they carried out dealings and exchange of funds with. _Everybody_ knew it. _The Sohma are mysterious. The Sohma are enigmatic. The Sohma are... strange._

Shigure had noticed a change in his Akito as she entered her teen years. Her clinging to Kureno had surpassed 'phase' territory and now bordered on obsession. He hated them both for it.

He'd been the first to observe the slight swelling underneath the loose kimonos she wore while home from school. She'd been crossing her arms a lot more lately, scowling when anybody got too close. _So obvious it's adorable_.

When he caught her standing bare from the waist up in front of her three-way bedroom mirror, struggling with several yards of white bandaging, he'd had to cover his smile.

"Those can damage your ribs you know," he said. She startled and jumped, covering her chest frantically. "You should order a proper binder. I'm sure the maids would, if you'd just tell them-"

"What are you doing in here, Shigure?" she asked, forgetting to lower or dampen her voice as she'd been trying to do lately. "Get out!"

Ignoring the order- though the dog in him fought to obey- he instead went to stand beside her and look into the mirror.

"Sorry, love," he said with a chuckle. "You just don't look like a man, try as you will."

"You could say that about a _lot _of men in this family!" she snapped. "It's just... how _us_ Sohma men _are_."

He met her eye in the mirror and smiled, causing her to scowl further with noticeably red cheeks.

"But not me, right?" he asked. "You definitely know that _I'm _a man."

The color in her cheeks spread to her neck and ears as well. "Like I care about something like that," she retorted. "Of course I do; I know _everything _about _all _my Jyuunishi."

And there it was, the same standstill they always seemed to meet at. She was God- untouchable, unreachable- and he was just one of her many animals. It pissed him off more than anything.

"You're saying you don't care?" he asked, adopting his silkiest voice. He stepped behind her, pressed into her back and dropped his head to her shoulder. Her skin was soft and warm and always smelled, just slightly, of the flowers he had dreamed of many years ago. He buried his nose in her scent, pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

She stiffened. "What are you-"

He braceleted his long fingers around her wrists and pulled them away from where she hid her chest. "Don't look!" she protested, sounding so afraid that his eyes closed despite themselves.

"Ok, princess," he whispered, pressing kisses from her neck to her collarbone. "I won't look."

Touching her was like playing with a broken telephone wire. Humming and warm with such dazzling sparks- so irresistibly dangerous. Within him the dog strained and growled, wanting to stop, demanding he kneel before her and declare his unworthiness. It added to the friction, the charge he got from just hearing her voice.

She gasped when his mouth found her newly growing breasts, and she curled her fingers tentatively in his shock of dark hair. Her scent was stronger here. She seemed to be debating whether to shove him away or pull him closer, and he waited on her decision with bated breath.

"Nii-san?" the male voice in the doorway caused them both to jump. Kureno Sohma, newly graduated from high school and looking at Shigure with the same innocent eyes he'd had as an admiring child.

Akito pulled away from Shigure, turning around and hunching over on herself. "Get out!" she shouted, fury rising. "Both of you. I hate you!"

Even Shigure could only resist the demands of God to a certain extent. His legs carried him out the door faster than his mind could fight them, and then Akito slammed it shut.

He tried to walk past his cousin down the hallway, but a hand caught his elbow as he tried to pass. He didn't bother turning around.

"Let go, Kureno," there was a definite growl in his voice, an instinctive rising of hackles.

"Nii-san, I think we should talk..." the boy was trying to sound upbeat and positive, but he was transparent as glass.

"Would you stop callingme that? We're not kids anymore." he pulled his arm free from the teenager's hand. "And no, I don't have anything to say to you."

"Shigure then," the bird ran around him to block the hallway. "And _I_ have something to say to _you_: Akito is _fifteen."_

_"_Well done, you've learned to count," Shigure retorted nastily. "How old are _you_; three?"

Kureno was tall, but scrawny. There was something obnoxious about the slight rosiness of his cheeks, still not yet a man's face. His eyes were bright and wide, forever looking a little distracted, ready to fly away.

_His... eyes._

It had been a long time since Shigure had looked Kureno in the face like this- really _looked_. They weren't only distracted eyes; they were completely _distant_, something _other_. Had they always been so... strange? Just looking at him, something cold flicked through Shigure. The dog spirit inside him didn't like it a bit.

"What I mean is," Kureno said, looking down at his hands. "She wouldn't... _tell _you this, but it scares her. Things like that, I mean. She doesn't like being reminded that she's a girl."

"Oh, and you're the expert of All Things Akito, are you?" Shigure drawled. "That's incredible. Can you read her mind, too? Why don't we just make _you _our God?"

He rolled his eyes and pushed past the rooster, pretending to be annoyed but now more curious than anything. Shigure's brain was always working. He noticed things others seemed not to, filing it away in the archives of his mind for future reference, and right now he was noticing a thing or two about Kureno Sohma.

The unease of the encounter lingered with him for some time. There was palpable tension in the air… something very fragile being strained to its breaking point, or a small beast hiding on the property slowly taking up every last ounce of oxygen. The dog inside him was most unsettled, flinching at loud noises and digging its claws down hard.

It was almost a relief when it happened: an end to the wondering.

_It_.

He'd later wonder- fiendishly possessed by endless hours of loops filling his mind—just why she'd left her bedroom door open. He refused to knowledge his own suspicions of her motives there. Either way, the beginning of the end began when, approaching her bedroom, he heard Kureno's voice. Ducking just shy of the doorway he was still able to see into the room using the reflection on the opposite window.

"See now?" he was saying. "Algebra isn't so terribly bad after all."

"Not when you explain it," she replied, and Shigure's heart squeezed in a fist when he noticed the true smile she wore, dimpled at the corner, at _him_. "Things make sense when you're around, Kureno."

"Hey," he said, and reached out to ruffle her short hair. "What am I here for if not that? Goodnight, kiddo."

Her smile disappeared at the endearment. "I'm not a kid," she replied. "I'm… well I'm _growing _up…"

"I know, I know," he laughed, distracted, as he gathered up the pencils and papers on the table they knelt before.

Her aggravation was palpable. "Ku_reno_," she said, a hint of complaint in her voice. She reached for him, took the collar of his shirt in her small hands. Obligingly he allowed himself to be brought down to her level, though he still looked surprised when she pressed a kiss to his slightly parted lips.

"Do you love me?" she asked breathily.

"Of... course, Lord Akito," he said, still looking dumbfounded.

"Then hold me," she said. She kissed him again, with more force this time, and Shigure saw the other's lips begin to respond. His arms went around her shoulders, and her hand began to slip down the front of his shirt, stroking his collarbone with curious fingers. Every move she made was one of exploration; he could almost see the gears whirring in her head. Comparisons and contrasts; an investigation. Were his face not feeling quite so hot he could have laughed- it was evident that this was all an experiment to the perpetually inquisitive mind of the teenager. Kureno was clearly just a safe test subject... right? One that would never push or resist, demand or question. Compliant and docile as a sparrow.

Even knowing this was no consolation. Shigure's face felt like it was on fire- the pressure in his head was enormous, reaching its peak just behind his eyeballs which pulsed painfully in their sockets. His hands curled and flexed, unsure if they wanted to punch or strangle or push him to run away. For once the dog within was silent, curled up in the back of his mind somewhere, fearing the ferocious emotional onslaught of its host.

He feared _himself_ just then, forced to face the monster that dwelled in his head. He'd caught glimpses of it before but it mostly dwelled in the shadowy recesses of his brain, breathing quietly, unseen. Now, confronted by it, he was forced to acknowledge how ugly, how possessive and huge his obsession truly was. Because if Hatori responded to depression by burying himself in a mental freezer and Ayame's way of dealing with anxiety was to chase it away with noise and company, Shigure's reaction to fury was to lash out indirectly and with cutthroat precision.

Kureno had to pull away to let out a breathy little groan at something Akito's hand was doing, and his eyes met those of the dog-spirit who had moved to the doorway without noticing himself do it. They stared at each other for a long time, before Shigure turned around and retreated down the hallway.

_Betrayal._

"I shouldn't," he said when he realized where his feet were taking him. "It's _too _much."

They carried him anyway.

Through the estate and around the outside, footstep after footstep beating out the drum solo that was his executioner's march. He had the ultimate weapon and as he walked, as red flecked his vision, he saw that the moon was very large that night; full and silver like a tear from the sky.

_People do crazy things when the moon is full_.

Perhaps not so crazy as knocking on her door. _Her_. Her of the musky voice and the unhinged eyes, the face that looked very like his—_his_!—Akito's.

She looked… groggy. Out of it, as if he'd woken her up. There were pillow marks on her pale cheek, and her dark hair tumbled past her knees like a cape. "Shigure," she said in surprise.

He kissed her without thinking, hard and unyielding, holding her at her slender waist. Her nails curved, seconds from digging into his face… when she seemed to rethink it. She softened, leaned close as she could, and returned his kiss. He could taste her wicked smile.

_Sticks and stones could break bones. Words could destroy lives._

But what crushed a soul better than a broken heart?

Shigure felt like breaking hearts tonight.

*.*

"Well, what do you think?" Shigure asked his friends, walking through the empty rooms of the old-fashioned house being constructed at the fringes of the woods. "Very… quaint. It has a certain _je ne sais quoi, _wouldn't you say?"

"I'd say wearing a v-neck that low when you're covered head to toe in hickies is only exacerbating the problem," said Hatori, deadpan as always.

"Yes, if nothing else it just leads one to wonder if Ren is possessed by the spirit of the mosquito," Ayame chimed in.

"And if Shigure is possessed by the spirit of complete and utter stupidity."

Shigure rolled his eyes. "Less talk, more work," he snapped.

"Ooh, speaking of work," Ayame glanced at the silver watch around his wrist. "I'm in charge of the shop again today. Better be going. Goodbye, _mon chou_," he blew a hasty kiss at Hatori, "and _mon imbécile_; good luck with the renovations." He waved at Shigure, and scampered off for one of the two cars waiting at the edge of the forest.

Hatori sighed as Shigure stacked several boxes on top of the one he already held. "I can't carry that many- stop it. What do you even have in here, a collection of dictionaries?"

"Don't be silly. There's only two dictionaries. The rest is a lovely assortment of books I've collected over the years."

Slowly they managed to unload the rest of the boxes from the back of the truck, and then both men stood awkwardly in the now very cramped living room.

"Why did you do it, Shigure?" Hatori finally asked, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Things are a nightmare at the estate, honestly. Akito can't be consoled; she won't even let _me _see her. She's just locked up with Kureno, crying…"

"Hmm, yes," Shigure mused, picking at a ragged thumbnail. "Why indeed… might want to keep an eye on those two." He winked, and then licked his lips. "You know, it's just the two of us…"

He was trying to change the subject, and Hatori knew it.

"Why do I want to keep an eye on them?" Hatori asked, narrowing his eyes. "What do you know?"

Shigure reached for the doctor's tie, hauling him closer. "Never mind that. You've gotten all sweaty; let me take care of that."

"Would you please try to stop thinking with your penis?" Hatori snapped. "Your hormones are ridiculous. And if you're implying what I think you're implying about Akito and Kureno…" his voice hitched a little when Shigure's mouth found his adam's apple and gave it a none-too-gentle suck.

"If I am?" Shigure asked coyly. He slipped his hands underneath the dragon's shirt and dragged his nails slowly, gently, down his front. Hatori shivered.

"If you are then I'm going to have to find a way to mix birth control into her food," he said. "And that's all kinds of illegal and morally reprehensible, but she wouldn't take them if I just asked her to. This family has _enough _problems without…"

He let out the most amazing whine when Shigure's hand dipped into his pants. He leaned forwards, on the brink of giving in, before reeling back. "I said no," he insisted, readjusting his clothes. "At least _half _of our family's problems stem from you. I need to go."

*.*

It was... dull, living alone like this. Hatori and Ayame both were too busy to visit him... and perhaps they were angry anyway. Even if they didn't realize it, he knew strong feelings from Akito could trickle down through the cords that bound them, infecting their own feelings until they couldn't separate the two.

What did one do when they had all the money in the world and nothing to spend it on? There were only so many books he could read, only so many trips of binge drinking he could attend with old high school friends. Shigure was never one meant to keep idle, and the boredom was crushing him.

In desperation he began researching again, a hobby he'd enjoyed in high school that now became his lifeline. Isolation, alone with nothing but the woods and his thoughts (and a handful of stray mutts around the area) were beginning to affect him. The research became articles, which were submitted under a pseudonym to various newspapers and magazines, and was surprised when he was contacted by one of them for a regular spot in their columns. It was something, at least, and he secretly opened his own bank account in case he ever needed to spend money without the Sohma's awareness.

Visitors were few and far-between, and so the knock that came on his door one rainy spring day came as quite a surprise. Hatsuharu wasn't _quite _the last person Shigure expected to see at his door- that lofty title would go to Akito- but he was close.

The child stood square in the middle of his doormat, his large presence taking up more space than his small body. Slightly behind the bamboo face, Shigure saw another head of dark hair. Not quite approaching, but forever observing; Isuzu, more guard dog than horse.

"Well, what a surprise! Haru and Rin! To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked. He craned his head up the path to locate their driver, but there was nothing but trees. Surely the children couldn't have _walked _the entire way…?

"Shigure, we need to talk," Haru said. Shigure hadn't had much to do with the ten-year-old, but gossip ran their family. He knew of the boys frequent tantrums. And Rin… rumor had it that she was staying at Kagura's home after her parents walked out on the Sohma entirely. Hatori didn't speak of it much, but Shigure knew he worried for the girl.

"Alright," he agreed slowly. Had Akito sent them over? Such a strange thing, though she herself was quite strange. "Well, come in then."

Haru politely untied his shoelaces and stepped over the threshold in his socks, but Rin, following him, didn't bother to do the same. She looked ready to bolt at any second and when Shigure held out his hand to take her bag for her, she flinched away from him. Both were still dressed in their school uniforms. Come to think of it…

"Isn't today a school day?" he asked them. He'd lost track of the days of the week, but he knew on Saturdays a man came to pick up his trash, and that hadn't been more than a couple of days ago.

"Yep," Haru agreed, sounding unconcerned he might be in trouble for such a thing. "We ditched. Well, I was going to go alone, but Rin said she wanted to come."

"She talks?" Shigure asked teasingly, and then cleared his throat when she shot him a scowl under her bangs.

"It's messy in here," Haru commented, looking around at the clutter and trash that had accumulated in the room during his first month at the new residence. "You must miss having the maids, huh?"

Shigure laughed nervously. _Blunt kid…_ He didn't seem at all the brat his family members made him out to be. He seemed very… relaxed, looking about Shigure's house, peeking upstairs with his brown eyes. Rin was the polar opposite, standing tense and unyielding just behind his back. She was quite a bit taller than the younger boy, but that was to be expected… two years made a big difference in children.

"So," Shigure said when the silence stretched for a while. "To what do I owe such an urgent visit that you'd scamper out of school to see me?" it occurred to him that they weren't supposed to be here- a smart move, really: leaving in the middle of school was much easier than trying to explain to the main house where they were going.

"Oh, yeah," Haru muttered. He pushed his bicolor hair from his eyes. "It's about Yuki. You need to go get him."

Even Shigure's quick mind was having trouble following the boy's abrupt, monotone sentences. He blinked twice. "Uh, pardon?" he asked politely.

"You know," Haru said. "Yuki… 'bout this tall…" he held a hand at about 120 centimeters from the ground. He paused to think for more description. "Purple eyes, kinda pale…"

"Are you talking about… Ayame's little brother?" Shigure asked, still not putting the pieces together.

"Oh, yeah," the ox spirit muttered after thinking it over. "Yeah, I guess he is…"

This conversation was getting nowhere. Trying to keep his patience, Shigure cleared his throat again and spoke, trying to annunciate very clearly, "And _why _do I need to go get him?"

Rin, too, seemed to be getting irritated of this slow exchange. "He's dying," she said curtly. Shigure couldn't remember having heard her speak before, though he knew he must have. "Akito's killing him, and if you don't go get him he's gonna die. Not that I care, but if you're gonna do something you'd better do it fast."

Haru nodded. "Yeah, that's what I said." He flexed his socked toes, seeming to enjoy the creaking they made on the wooden floor of the entryway. He turned to Shigure. "When you left Akito got really scary. Well… scarier than usual. He started locking Yuki in this… room. It's just a regular room, but he took out, like, the bed, and… oh, he covered the windows. And painted the walls black."

_After I left_?

"But before that… he was kinda scary to Yuki, too. Not as much. But Hatori says Yuki's not gonna get any better where he is, and he's gonna die if he stays. We heard them talking about it."

Shigure sat down on the edge of one of the many boxes he had yet to unpack, and Haru immediately did so as well, across from him. Shigure's ever-observing brain noticed the gentle way he reached to take Rin's hand and guide her next to him. _Hmm…_

"Akito told him Yuki was fine where he was, and to leave them alone," Haru continued. He was still holding onto Rin's hand. Outside, a light pattering drizzle was beginning to fall; one of many spring showers that had been affecting the area lately. The drops plinked pleasantly against his roof. "And anyway, he said Yuki needed to be taken _out_. Out of the Sohma."

"And you chose _me _to come to instead of… say… _Ayame_, who has a job and is his actual brother?" He hadn't quite intended for his sarcasm to be so grating, but the visit was growing tedious. _Silly children, getting involved in something like this_.

"They don't get along," Haru said with a shrug, as if it was common knowledge. Which it was. "Come on, sensei; everyone knows you're the only one Akito listens to, even if he _is _mad at you. If anyone can get him out, you can."

His eyes were so wide and pleading, but they didn't really need to be. Anything to break up the monotony, any way to make sure he stayed fresh on Akito's mind. _Welcome to the bachelor pad, Yuki Sohma._

*.*

Living with Yuki was very similar to living alone. He was silent as a ghost and almost as invisible. He asked for nothing and Shigure soon gave up on setting an extra plate when he brought food; the boy wouldn't enter the kitchen unless he knew it was empty. Sometimes Shigure would hear the bath running, or the refrigerator opening, or feet creaking on the stairs just above, but that was about his only reminder of the child's existence.

Well, almost.

"Where did I leave that book," he grumbled to himself, rooting through the papers that cluttered his desk. "I could've sworn..."

He was far from the tidiest man in the world; things went missing fairly regularly. But lately it had evolved to the point of ridiculousness; the rice cooker couldn't have gotten up and waddled away, now could it? And he could have sworn he owned more than one pair of shoes. As for his keys...

He wandered through the house looking between crates and underneath half-filled takeout boxes, and he managed to turn up a handful of loose change and what looked like one of Hatori's contact lenses. He even cleared up some of the trash, but there were no books to be found.

When he reached Yuki's bedroom he pressed his ear to the door warily, wondering if the boy was home. He heard nothing, so he pushed the door open. Or, _tried _to. It seemed to be blocked by something.

Using his upper body as a brace, he heaved hard and very slowly managed to force his way in. The smell was the first thing to hit him- musty and unpleasant. The room was barely recognizable, and looked quite as if a small explosion had taken place in a store that sold everything in the world. Not a centimeter of floor or wall space could be seen. Things piled on top of other things created a carpet at least half a yard deep of unsteady rubbish. It took some effort and tentative wading just to find the futon.

Random articles of clothing were stretched across the walls, held up by staples and chewing gum and he-didn't-want-to-know-whats, creating a canopy over a small indent on the sleeping space, exactly the shape a tightly curled up boy might make while sleeping.

Bewildered and amazed, Shigure couldn't help but laugh.

"It's like a _nest_," he chuckled. "Of decay." He noticed some broken glass- a milk bottle- smashed by the window, and his smile faded somewhat. This wasn't safe.

He left to find a large trash bag and a couple of boxes and returned, quickly sorting through the pile immediately at his feet. He made some headway, clearing a path almost to the bed when he heard the window creak open.

The boy was crouched, balanced on the windowsill with his dirty bare feet holding him in place. He looked quite feral, like he hadn't washed in days. Deep circles looked like bruises underneath his violet eyes.

"Oh hey, Yuki," Shigure greeted. "Would you mind my asking why my boxer shorts are inside your pillowcase?"

The rat just stared at him in horror.

"Need a hand?" he asked cheerfully, reaching out for his cousin. Yuki made an angry noise of protest and leaned away from him, until he leaned too far and toppled from the window entirely.

Shigure's smile disappeared and he vaulted to the window, sticking his head out and peering outside. Yuki lay stunned on the bushes below, limbs spread-eagle and eyes wide open.

"Are you alright?" Shigure asked. "Hold still- let me check for broken-"

The rat scrambled to his feet and made a mad dash deeper into the forest.

"- bones," Shigure concluded weakly. "Damn it..."

There was nothing for it but to continue cleaning. He was holding something, he realized, and glanced down at the item in his hand. "Hey, it's my book!"

Yuki didn't return home that night. Shigure didn't start to worry; the thought barely crossed his mind at all. His good deed was done for the month, and the bedroom was once again inhabitable for humans.

No, he didn't think about it... until a whining began to take place outside his door. _Master, master... _

It was Ame, one of the strays that visited him regularly. Long and skinny with droopy ears and scraggly gray fur, she was a pitiful sight at the best of times. And now she was upset.

"What is it, Ame?" he asked. She bumped his jaw with her cold black nose.

_Your rat, your rat, _she said. She was offering him her neck, her body language telling him to sniff her- her best form of communication. He complied, and underneath the unwashed forest smell, he made out the scent of Yuki.

"What about him?" he asked, but she didn't answer. She turned around and took off, easily dodging trees.

Shigure's sense of smell was strong, but his hearing wasn't quite so sharp as a dog's. He had to keep an eye out for flecks of moonlight dappling off her lighter patches of fur just to keep track.

"Slow down, Ame," he said. "I don't even have shoes on..." It was cold out tonight, a pre-fall snap that chilled his bones.

His mind didn't connect the dots when he first saw the bundle of rags on the ground, but Ame stuck her face into them, worrying at them. This didn't strike him as particularly odd- dogs stuck their faces into a lot of things. Until the scent hit him.

"Oh, hell."

_Rat's gone_, she realized once she'd torn the pile of clothes inside out.

"How am I supposed to find one rat in this entire forest?" he grouched. "Stupid boy. Can you sniff him out?"

Both cocked their heads at a low groan just a couple yards over, and then Ame was off, bounding over a fallen log and letting out a yip of triumph. She nosed and worried at the thing there, and it let out a few deep, chesty coughs.

"Yuki?" Shigure hurried to the mutt's side and saw the naked boy shivering violently, barely able to hold onto his human skin which wavered and shimmered from the strain. Ame lay down and pressed herself to him fully, sharing her warmth.

_Rat sick_, she said. _Rat very sick._

_"_Ok," Shigure said, feeling very out of his league. "I'm an adult. I can handle this."

Yuki's eyes stared feverishly at nothing. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. Nervously, Shigure bent down and gathered him in his arms. It was unsettling, feeling bones churn and scrape just under flesh. Gray fuzz, the beginnings of fur, continually appeared and receded back into goose-pimpled skin. Yuki seemed to be fighting off his rat spirit.

"It'd probably hurt less if you just went ahead and transformed," Shigure said, carrying him back to the house.

Yuki seemed to come to himself a few yards in; he stiffened, and looked around in shock. When they made eye-contact, the boy's expression changed from one of confusion to one of fear.

He twisted and kicked wildly in Shigure's arms. "Whoa, calm down!" Shigure protested, but then there was a knee in his diaphragm and teeth in his shoulder and sometime in between he'd fallen to his knees and the boy was off, running faster than the winded Shigure could hope to catch.

"Go get him, would you?" he wheezed irritably to Ame. "And try not to kill him." _I'd prefer to do that myself._

He limped inside, snatched up his phone, and punched in the number Hatori had left him. The doctor answered after a few rings.

"Come get him," Shigure snarled. "I can't do this. _You're _Mr. Seahorse-mommy now, aren't you? Just add him to your abused child daycare or whatever it is you're doing with Momiji."

He threw open the door when he heard Ame approaching, and she let herself in.

"What happened?" Hatori asked.

"Where is he?" Shigure asked Ame, who dropped a bundle of soggy gray fur on his feet. It wasn't moving. "Damn everything. Is he dead?"

"What?!" Hatori replied, definitely sounding panicked now. "I'll be right over, give me twenty minutes..." he hung the phone up with a click.

_Ame did good master, she did_

! She insisted, whining. Her tail had tucked between her legs when she registered how frustrated Shigure felt. _Ame didn't hurt him._

Picking up the rat, Shigure was relieved to feel a heartbeat against his fingers.

"Well that's something," he muttered. He poured some water in the kettle to boil and set out a few clean towels on the table, letting the rat sleep it off. When the kettle whistled he made two mugs of tea and put them close to the rat, for extra warmth.

It was a quarter past midnight when his front door flew open and Hatori came in. He'd not bothered to change from his pajamas, which consisted of boxer shorts and a white undershirt.

"What's wrong with Yuki?" he asked, sounding out of breath. Shigure shrugged and pointed to the rat. "He's a nutcase is what it is. Goes weeks without talking to me and then flips out for no reason and _bites _me." He pulled his sleeve down to show the round circle of shiny red marks in his skin.

Hatori groaned, stole one of the cups of tea for himself, and sank down into a kitchen chair. "I'm exhausted," he muttered. "Completely. This family is too much for me."

Ame bumped Shigure's thigh with her head. _Master_?

"Yes, yes, you're a good girl," he told her absently. He grabbed a half-empty takeout carton from the night before off the countertop and put it on the ground for her. She gobbled away noisily, pork fried rice falling over the edges.

He turned to his friend, who was prodding carefully at the still rat. "Ha'ri, I _can't _do this. I am _not _a parent. You think I know how to deal with... _whatever _the hell that was?"

Yuki's beady eyes slowly fluttered open; a moment later there was a pop and a naked boy on his kitchen table. Reaching back, Shigure grabbed the slightly dusty afghan he'd tossed over the back of his sofa shortly after moving in and handed it over. Yuki carefully climbed down and wrapped it underneath his arms like a bath towel, looking a bit lost.

"Sit down, Yuki," Hatori said. "Did you have an asthma attack?"

The rat shook his head. He was still looking a bit feverish. Still, with some reluctance, he did seat himself in the third chair.

Ame, done with her meal, went over to the door and waited until Shigure got up to let her out.

When he returned to the table, Hatori had taken Yuki's face in his hands, pressing on the sides of his throat.

"Flu," he said, "or at least a bad cold. How long have you been feeling sick?"

Yuki shrugged.

"Why is he so grubby?" Hatori asked Shigure. "Hasn't he been washing?" it was true; the fine gray hairs had matted together in an unpleasant, tangled clump; dirt streaked him, fresh and old.

"How would I know?" Shigure asked. "This is the most I've seen of him in two months."

Hatori frowned. "I don't understand."

"Um, basically he doesn't talk to, eat with, or otherwise acknowledge me in any way. He leaves and enters the house through his bedroom window and I have no idea what he spends his days doing, besides stealing things and hoarding them in his room."

Yuki flinched and looked down at his hands.

"You know what I found in his room today, Ha'ri? Kitchen knives. Broken glass. Trash. _My underwear_. Among other things. Are you really sure he isn't crazy?"

Yuki seemed to cringe even more, bringing his knees to his chest to curl in on himself.

"Shut up," Hatori snapped. "You're making him uncomfortable." He turned wide eyes at Shigure. _We don't want him running off again_.

"Ok," said Shigure, trying to keep calm. "Well then, all I'm saying is that you need to take him back. What other way to I have to say it? _I. Can't. Do. This._"

Yuki peeked up from his hands, jewel-bright eyes worried. "N-no," he said. It was the first time anyone had heard him speak in months; Hatori nearly dropped the cigarette he'd been about to light. "No, please…" he coughed again, folding in on himself even more. "Don't make me go back… _there_."

"We'll have to, if you keep pulling stunts like this," Hatori said reasonably once he'd gotten over his shock. "You're not doing well, Yuki. I think you need help."

Yuki shook his head. "I'll be good, I _promise_. I'll try harder!" he seemed to be wilting, like a flower under a microscope. "Anything. Just don't make me go back…"

He grit his teeth hard as a chilling spasm shook up his small frame, and more sweat poured down his pale forehead. Despite his eyes, when he looked up at them just then, pleadingly, he strongly resembled his brother. Shigure knew Hatori saw it too, by the way his forehead creased.

"Don't worry about it now," he said. "Let's just get you lying down and over this flu."

"No!" Yuki said. "_Before_… promise me. Just one more chance…"

His lips trembled with the effort of holding his coughs back, and Shigure felt something inside him cave a little. _I'm such a fool._

"Fine." _One _more chance.

He never needed a second.


	7. The One who Forgot the One who Stayed

The One who Forgot; The One who Stayed

May 1, 1997

**Unconditional (Adj): **without requirements or terms; given freely

**No warnings apply for this chapter**

*.*

Inevitability was a strange thing. Ayame thought, perhaps, watching Hatori fall in love with another person would be the worst sort of agony, the most lonesome feeling he could imagine.

She was cute, he supposed. Or at least endearing, with her expressive face and thoughtful quips. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the time they spent in each other's company. Restaurants and bars, even a club once. They- he and Shigure and Hatori, along with Kana and her friend, the tall teacher whom Shigure'd taken a shine to- made a good group of friends.

Hatori's face was nothing like Ayame had ever seen during those short, happy months. He was alive and_ smiling_. He laughed like he meant it and he radiated such light and beauty that Ayame felt a little breathless. He found he didn't- _couldn't_- have it in him to be envious, not really.

"She knows," Hatori admitted in confidence to the snake. "She knows what we are."

Ayame'd nearly dropped his drink in surprise- she'd seemed no different that night than any other. She'd still kissed his and Shigure's cheeks in greeting, and had even allowed the dog to lead her and Mayu in a spirited dance over the bar's wooden floors.

_How could it be, _he mused as she waved in farewell later on_, that something like us seems so wonderful in her eyes? _He had to look away when Hatori kissed her by her car, and she held his hands as though she never wanted to let him go.

A hip bumped his. "You doing ok?" Shigure asked, jerking his head at the couple.

"To not be 'ok'," Ayame replied, "would be very… selfish. Just look at his smile."

"You _are _selfish," the dog chuckled. He wasn't wrong. "What do you say we remember old times?" he hooded his eyes suggestively. "I'm bored, you're bored…"

"I… no. Thank you." It wasn't as if he'd lost interest- Shigure was remarkably good-looking, even by Sohma standards. And he loved his friends, really, but Ayame couldn't seem to be satisfied by hard flesh and breathless laughter, not anymore. To do something so empty on a night where he felt like this seemed the loneliest thing of all. "Why not go talk to her?" he pointed at Mayu, who was wishing her friend a good night. "She seems like she wouldn't mind company."

The slightly tipsy dog laughed. "I'll think about it. Goodnight, Aya." He tugged affectionately at the end of Ayame's braid. "Ya'know, you should come over sometime. Your little brother is a good boy. Think you'd like him- he's in his last year of middle school now."

"I-"Ayame adjusted the collar of his top. "I… well…"

"You don't really still resent him. And for what, being born?" Shigure asked, perceptive as always. "Honestly, Aya, 'special rat prince' or not, he's had it much harder than either of us. And even _he_ is trying. His grades are amazing, and he's started training in martial arts… maybe we should try too, hmm?"

Ayame was beginning to feel uncomfortably warm. "I'll… think about it..."

"Do that," Shigure advised sternly, and then he cracked a smile. "C'mon, love, not even one for the road? Things've been running pretty dry, havin' to play Responsible Daddy these days." He puckered his lips like a fish and the moment was broken when Ayame had to laugh. Silly mutt, lecturing him one minute and being a goofball the next. He pushed the pleading face away from him.

"Go home, Gure; you're drunk!" he couldn't stop himself from patting the dog's cheek, though. _I love you_, he thought. He knew the dog loved him too, as much as Shigure was capable of loving anyone.

Shigure turned with a wave, and the snake watched his back for several moments. It wouldn't take the dog too long to get back to his charming, old-fashioned house in the woods, but Ayame's return trip to town would take a while.

Car headlights illuminated him from behind, causing his shadow to stretch out long before him. The car slowed as it approached, and he heard the window rolling down.

"Come on, Aya, let me give you a ride home." Kana called. Still feeling twitchy over her newfound knowledge, he felt a bit reluctant as he opened the door of her silver car, sliding into the front seat beside her.

He must have had an odd look on his face, because she asked in that gentle voice of hers, "is something the matter?"

He shook his head, fixing his face to reflect his usual million watt smile. "All is well, _mon lapin_. Might I add that you are looking rather fetching in that blouse?"

"Oh, well thank you! That means a lot, coming from Mister Fashion himself." She bumped him with her knee and grinned. "Oh! Speaking of '_lapins_', I got to go to Momiji's school the other day and meet his teacher! It was a parent-teacher conference, and Hatori was too busy, and…"

She went on to fill the silence with tales of his young boy's scholarly accomplishments, but Ayame couldn't focus, as his insides had filled with ice cubes at the mention of his cousin's leporine nature. To have someone on the outside _know _and be so casual with the information, so calm about something truly terrible, was bizarre and unsettling. It prodded at something very painful in his brain that he'd long ago locked away.

"Ayame, you're white as a sheet!" she turned to face him in the driver's seat, which in and of itself was a cause for alarm.

"Kana! The road-" he wasn't much of a driver, but he was fairly certain you weren't supposed to leap between lanes like that, even if the roads _were _empty. She blushed and focused on staying in her lane for the rest of the drive.

When they pulled safely in front of his shop, he didn't get out of the car right away; she was looking at him as though there were something on the tip of her tongue, and he feared what it might be. He saw there was a light on in the second floor of the house, though the shop was nicely closed up and dark.

"Aya," she said quietly. "I just wanted to say… thank you, for being my friend."

Of all the things she could have said, that was not what he was expecting. "Oh… um, any time."

She offered her hand to him, and, confused, he took it. She intertwined their fingers together and gave it a shake. "You always seem so happy, Aya," she said. "But… I hope you know that even if you aren't, people will still care about you. You don't have to pretend, not for me."

His mask was able to slip easily back into place at that. "I am honored, lovely Miss Kana," he pressed a dramatic kiss to the back of her hand before letting it go. "Hatori is one lucky man."

She actually waited for him to unlock the door to the shop before driving away, as if making sure he'd get in safely. He didn't know whether to smile or curse.

Her words didn't leave his head as he ascended the stairs to the apartment he shared with Mine Kuramae, his assistant. She'd slipped into his life one day without warning, waving his 'assistant needed' sign. "Ok, well," she'd announced. "Here I am. I'm kind of the best, so…"

He'd always admired bravado. And she wasn't wrong; she was quite skilled, despite her young age. Their personalities had meshed very quickly, and he enjoyed every moment spent with what was quickly becoming a dear friend. She listened to his stories, introduced him to her favorite television shows, and-

"Welcome back, Boss! Did you have a good night?"

- she always waited for him, keeping the light on until he'd returned. He didn't know when he'd started doing the same for her, for worrying when the clock's hand carried over the 'twelve' and she hadn't returned yet. It was such a gradual thing. He wondered if _she'd_ been worried tonight.

"The evening was simply splendid, _mon mignon_. You will have to come with us next time; there are three brutish gentlemen but only two delicate flowers. It is full of tragedy…"

"I'll show _you _delicate!" she laughed and swatted him with some fabric she was holding. He caught her by the arms and spun her, taking in her outfit for the first time.

"_Mon trognon _you look a treat! Is this the special project you've been working on?" covering his eyes dramatically he skittered over to the window, drawing the curtain. "_Non, non_; I simply cannot let you be seen. You will be swept up by a model scout and I could not run this shop without you." She did look lovely; filmy, creamy fabric fell around her shoulders and swept in an understated way along the ground. Blush-colored roses were placed in an asymmetrical trail down her spine and over the hem. "But it needs something… a hat?"

"Already on it, Boss," she said, nodding her head over at her sewing machine in the corner- the one Ayame wasn't allowed to touch.

"Can you help me undo this?" she asked, struggling to reach for the clasps on the back. "I'm hungry and I _can't _get food on this- I wanted to enter it in that competition…"

Ayame pretended he didn't feel it, the awkwardness he saw in his family members whenever it became necessary to touch an outsider. He'd laugh and do it anyway, never hesitating. But he felt it just the same, a shock to his fingertips where skin brushed skin. A buzzing reminder: _they are not like you. Don't get too close_. He felt it, even now, as he undid the buttons on his assistant's dress and held her hand as she stepped over the fabric in her slip. He even felt a brief flare of panic as she stumbled and his hands caught her shoulders to keep her from bumping his chest. Unlike his family members, he tried not to let it bother him.

_Forget the curse_, he thought stubbornly. _I can be friends with whoever I want._

It was only a few short weeks following that pleasant, nondescript evening when tragedy struck. It was just a simple, short phone call with Shigure.

Mine, perceptive as ever, saw the slumping of her boss' shoulders as, with every word, his body curled more and more around the receiver. "- married?! Oh, but…" a long pause, a gasp. "But she's not… okay, well that's something. And- oh. _Oh_." Each 'oh' became slightly more pained.

Abandoning her embroidery entirely, she walked to her boss' side and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. He turned to face her, and there was such sadness in his strange golden eyes that she reached for the phone. He shook his head, but rested his chin on her forehead to listen to the rest of the call. "I see. Send him over; any time… As long as he needs. Of course. Of course. Right away. Bye, Gure."

"What happened, Boss?" she asked when he hung up the receiver.

He said nothing but only leaned against her for a moment longer. He so rarely touched her that she stood quite still, hoping he wouldn't walk away.

"Something terrible," he replied hollowly.

*.*

Hatori wasn't speaking; he sat in Ayame's sitting room chair, holding the mug of tea in both hands. Despite his size, he seemed very small.

Mine shot Ayame a worried glance and he angled his head towards the door; she seemed relieved to go, though still anxious.

"Tori," Ayame said quietly once the tap of her heels outside had faded away.

Hatori didn't respond.

As if facing down a frightened wild animal, Ayame's movements were very slow as he sat on the carpet beside his legs. Just as slowly, he reached up and touched his friend's hand, which was warm from the mug. "Tori..." he said again. He felt completely at a loss.

Hatori shifted, and the curtain of hair over his face parted, revealing a glimpse of bandaging. Ayame reached up to push the hair completely aside, tucking it behind one of the doctor's ears. A white patch, circular and puffy-looking, was held in place with strips of medical tape over Hatori's left eye.

Hatori's good eye focused on Ayame, seeing the distress there. "It's alright," he said quickly, intertwining his fingers with the snake's to move his hand aside, freeing the hair to conceal his face once more. "It looks worse than it actually is."

_Liar. Dear, precious liar. _Ayame tried hard to keep the tears at bay. _I'm such a crybaby._

There were no words to be said; nothing Ayame could possibly do to fix things. He wanted, so badly, to find the perfect sentence, pluck it out of the air like a miracle, and hand it over as a gift to Make Things Right. But he was completely at a loss, and so he remained silent, only leaning his face against the doctor's knee.

A hand touched his hair, softly stroking down its silvery length. He leaned into the touch, allowing Hatori's fingers to comb down from root to tip and back again. A vague memory surfaced in his head, from a gentler time of lullabies and naptimes, when Hatori used to do the very same thing. It seemed almost a security blanket-like comfort to him now.

The tears came just the same, seeping into the dragon's trousers. The warmth seemed to startle Hatori out of his reverie.

"Aya," he said. His voice was rough; from disuse, or from screaming? "Don't cry for me."

"How can I _not_?" Ayame replied. "I love you, Tori." The unsaid lingered in the air: _but I can't protect you_.

He couldn't protect anyone. None of them could. What was the use of loving someone if you couldn't keep them safe?

He was startled when arms came around his neck, and the doctor rested his chin atop the silvery head. "Thank you," he said, and his voice wobbled for a moment as well. "Thank you, for loving me."

_He's trying to comfort _me_, _Ayame realized, and he didn't know whether to laugh or to cry harder. _Of course he is. It's what he does._

With great effort, he forced his tears to cease. With practiced hands, he wiped his face clean of them. The hardest part of all was sliding his smile into place, but he did it just the same, though the strain caused something inside him to crack, ready to snap forever.

_Just a moment longer_, he told himself. _I need you to hold on, just for a moment. You can at least do that, right?_

He turned that beaming smile around at Hatori, reaching up to pat his cheek gruffly. "All is well, Tori-san!" he chirruped. "Don't you be worrying for _my _sake. Why don't you take a little rest on the sofa, and have dinner here with Mine and I? You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

It was going well, until his voice caught on the last word, and his smile faltered a few watts. Hatori _knew_, could see right through it. Ayame wanted to punch himself. _I can't even be strong for him? _he wondered miserably, hating his own weakness.

"Thank you," Hatori said again.

*.*

"Boss, who is that man?" Mine asked quietly as she helped him slice tofu in the kitchen, adding another few pieces to the sizzling pan. She pointed to the couch, where Hatori slept with his long legs dangling over the arm almost to the floor.

"That's my cousin, Mine," Ayame replied tentatively. "He... got hurt, pretty badly. He's going to stay here for..." he considered. "for as long as he needs."

"You must care about him a lot, Boss," Mine observed.

_More than you'll ever know_. "Not as much as I should." wanting to dispel the gloomy atmosphere before she began to feel worried as well, he smiled once again. It was becoming harder and harder to do so. "You should see him on a good day. Tori-san can make the ladies _swoon _with his broody face."

Mine giggled. "If he's related to you I don't doubt it. What's over in the water at the Sohma estate that makes you all so pretty? You'll have to introduce me to some of the girls sometime; I'd love to dress them up."

Ayame nearly choked on the fried tofu he'd stolen from the pan to sample, imagining Mine trying to force Akito into a frilly costume.

"Oh, our guest is awake!" Mine said happily when Hatori stumbled, tousle-haired, into the kitchen. "We weren't properly introduced earlier. I'm Mine Kuramae; feel free to use my first name."

"Hatori Sohma," he said, shaking her hand. "And the same goes to you."

"I see what you mean," Mine stage-whispered to Ayame. "Maybe we can get him to model in some of our costumes. How about project 53?"

Thinking of Hatori wearing project 53- which consisted of a triangle of metallic fabric and several strategically-placed straps- caused Ayame's face to flame crimson. Mine's eyebrows shot up at his expression and her mouth crooked in a wicked grin. _Oh, _her innocently batting eyelashes seemed to say. _So it's like that_.

_I have no idea what you're talking about_, Ayame's disdainfully upturned nose told her. Despite himself, he loved how they'd come so far working together that they needed no words to communicate.

Fixing a heaping plateful of tofu and vegetables (and grabbing two hefty wine bottles from the cabinet with his free hand) he slid the food before his disheveled cousin. "Eat, eat," he ordered. "Tis a feast from the heavens above, inspired by Yon Channel of Cooking and paired most extravagantly with dry white wine."

"We like the cooking channel," Mine explained. "Watch it every day during lunch. It's nice to be able to test out a recipe for a guest. The wine doesn't really match properly though, sorry."

"Thank you," Hatori muttered. He picked at the food without much of an appetite, but downed two glasses. His good eye widened in surprise when he glanced up to see Mine and Ayame in a small scuffle, the young woman trying to force chopsticks full of vegetables from her own plate into her boss' mouth.

"He _never _eats his vegetables," she groused. "And after I went to such trouble..."

"You have no idea," Hatori snarked dryly. "The maids used to have to sit on him to get him to eat anything other than junk."

"If I dressed like a maid, would you eat it?" she snapped in exasperation. Ayame grinned, and she left the table in a huff.

"You two seem to get along pretty well," Hatori observed when they were alone.

"Yes," Ayame mused. "Mine is the other half of my brain. I envision great things, and she carries them out perfectly. It's almost as if she can see into my head- she gets my designs perfectly _every _time."

"I'm glad you're making friends." but Hatori's face was back to being worried now. "You say she lives here? Does she know-" he didn't finish the sentence.

Ayame shook his head. "No worries, Tori! Mine doesn't know-"

"What don't I know?" she stepped into the room; 155 centimeters and forty-four kilograms of slender leg and chocolate eyes. Ayame felt his jaw go slack when he took in her outfit, and behind him he heard Hatori choke on his third glass of wine.

"_C'est Magnifique,_" Ayame said slowly enough to annunciate every syllable. He stood and clapped his hands. "My fair lady, might I ask the origins of that little number?"

She turned around and showed off a long line of neon orange clips that held the too-big fabric on her smaller frame. "It's for a customer, but I think I might like this look. What do you think, Boss?"

"I think I'll buy you seven. Dresses, I mean." He smiled. "One for each day of the week. You look amazing."

"I _know_, right?" she bounced a little and her dangerously tall heels clacked on the floor. Grabbing up the chopsticks again, she twirled them in the steaming pile of vegetables. "And Maid-sama insists that you eat your vegetables, little boy. You wouldn't want to disobey her, now would you?"

Obediently, Ayame held his mouth open like a baby bird. Behind him, Hatori let out a bewildered sound and shook his head. "How do I _find _you people?" he muttered into his wine.

***.***

He woke suddenly when the bed dipped underneath an extra weight and his body was rolled to the right, into something warm and solid. His body knew what it was several seconds before his brain caught up.

"Tori?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Shh," the dragon replied. The bedsprings creaked as the larger man settled down under the covers, and then Ayame was pulled to a broad chest in a movement impossible to describe as anything other than 'spooning.'

"Please?" Hatori asked. "just for the night... I can't..."

Ayame had already fallen back asleep, lulled by the steady beating of his friend's heart. The whispered thought of, _I missed this_, tangled into his dreams.

He slept better than he had in weeks; sunlight was already peeping through the curtains by the time he roused again. Hatori was gone but his scent still lingered, soft and faint on the sheets.

There was a note on his dresser; short and to the point. 'Thank you,' it said. 'I'll be fine now.' _Dear, precious, _stupid _liar._

Peeking downstairs, he saw Mine in her pajamas, bent over her desk and studying several sheets of tissue paper with a critical eye.

He watched her for a long moment as her fingers traced the inky blue lines of the pattern she'd designed herself, searching for flaws.

When she was quiet, when she held so still and her face was one of study instead of excitement or passion, she seemed quite plain. The sort of girl he could pass at any time, at the library or a bus stop, someone who wouldn't so much as spike his radar for a second.

_What a lucky thing, then, _he marveled, awed by the sudden realization of what could have been, _that she found me._

_And how strange it is how something so small can mean so much._

The snake inside him hissed. _Hide. Stay away. Don't let them see..._

Ayame had never been one for following the rules.

_No_, he thought, at war with himself now. _I always have choices. I don't care what anyone says_. In light of recent events, with what happened with Hatori, perhaps someone else would have shrunk into a tiny ball within themself, accepting the prison cell that was his family.

Not Ayame Sohma.

"Good morning, Miss Kuramae," he greeted. "You're up bright and early. Has our guest forsaken us?"

"Yes," she replied after a moment, still concentrating on her pattern. Tucked over her ear was a blue pen, which she removed to add a few lines to the tissue paper with a steady hand. "He said he had to return to work. Such a polite man."

He opened his mouth, and closed it again. The lost Kana's words echoed in his mind: _Thank you for being my friend… people will still care about you. You don't have to pretend, not for me. _Perhaps it didn't mean much from a woman who would barely remember him now, but still…

"Mine," Ayame said after a few minutes had passed. "You're... I'm... we're friends, aren't we?" He wasn't a man who hesitated often, and this caught her attention. Swiveling around on her stool, she looked at him, taking in his rumpled hair and pajamas.

"Of course, Boss," she agreed. 'Something on your mind?"

_Don't do it, _his very instincts screamed inside of him. _She'll run._

"I..." he cleared his throat. "I have a story to tell you, Mine." This was it, he knew. This would change everything, one way or another. _Time to put you to the test, Kana_.

She brightened at this. She loved his stories- the wild and the ridiculous, the ones that began with 'in my troubled youth' or 'there was this one time I...'

It didn't begin this way now.

"Once upon a time," Ayame said, twisting his hair anxiously over his fingers. "God told all of the animals..."

*.*

Of course he didn't feel nervous. Why should he? It was only a middle school graduation…

"Does my hair look alright? My clothes are too flashy, aren't they. Mine, _do _something…" he couldn't hold still for a second, bouncing and jostling his knees around.

"Aya, I love you, but if you don't quit it I'm pushing you out of this car," said Shigure. He smiled at Mine when she shot him a grouchy look.

"I can't wait to meet Boss' little brother!" Mine chirruped, adjusting the hem of her dress over her knees.

Shigure and Ayame exchanged fond glances when their driver pulled in front of the school, right by the entryway. All around them, families hustled to and fro, guided by energetic pre-teen boys in heavy robes. The moment the car rolled to a hault the two men sprang from the car and made a mad dash inside, knocking surprised families askew.

"It's okay, Aya!" Shigure huffed, grinning ear-to-ear. "I'll warm you up!"

"Hey!" protested Mine, once she'd caught up to them. "What was that all about?"

Both men shrugged. "Nonsense for nostalgia's sake," Shigure explained. It was much too warm to worry about transforming from the cold; Ayame was grateful when his assistant raised her parasol over his head.

"Stay by me," she instructed Shigure and Ayame sternly, tucking her arms through theirs. "You don't want to bump into any ladies, do you?" They were each about two heads taller than she, but she guided them, fierce as life, through the crowd.

"Is Lord Akito coming?" Ayame asked the dog over Mine's curly brown hair. He shook his head.

"Too hot," he explained.

"You're telling me." Ayame tugged at his collar. "We were joking before, but this is getting worrisome."

"The sun should go down soon," Mine said, but she patted at her purse where she'd stored several ice packs. She slipped one into Ayame's lap the moment they sat down on the bleachers and he held the blue plastic to his cheek gratefully.

"There's our boy," Shigure said a moment later, nodding his head at the sport's field where several stern-looking teachers were arranging a long line of boys. It wasn't hard to spot him; not a lot of thirteen-year-olds had gray hair.

"Ooh," Mine said, adjusting her purple-tinted opera glasses on the bridge of her nose. "He looks _just like _you, Boss! How adorable."

Ayame borrowed the glasses from her to focus on his sibling as well. The rat was slender with pointed features and feet slightly too big for his body; a mouse not quite grown into its paws just yet. He _was _terribly cute in his smart little robes.

He and Shigure sang along, loudly and off-key, to the school's anthem, and applauded raucously after each speaker, much to the growing annoyance of the families surrounding them. They quieted when the exchange of diplomas began taking place.

Mine kept a concerned eye on Ayame's exposed neck. It was faint, but the skin there had begun pressing into a hexagonal pattern as if held down by chicken wire with every breath he took: scales were starting to form. She quickly dropped two ice packs down the neck of his top. The sunset couldn't begin fast enough.

It was well underway when the 'S' surnames began; the sky had exploded into brilliant reds and oranges, illuminating the jewel-bright grass in a myriad of striking colors.

The three of them jumped to their feet, hooting and hollering when "Sohma, Yuki," approached the speaker to collect his diploma. Ayame was feeling distinctly lightheaded, and nearly stumbled against Mine. Shigure's hand slapped, hard, onto his chest, holding him upright.

"Damn," the dog muttered, feeling Ayame's skin coil and shiver under his touch. "Can't you hold on?"

Ayame's eyes had gone distinctly slitted as they rolled back in their sockets in a dead faint.

"I got this," he told Mine, slipping one of Ayame's arms over his own shoulders and hustling down the bleachers.

Ayame was dimly aware of his friend's hands catching him behind the knees to hold him in a piggy-back as they slipped away. He glanced up in time to catch Yuki's eyes following him. He offered a cheeky wink before Shigure broke into a run towards the school.

_Just you wait, little brother, _he thought to himself. _I'll make it up to you yet._

*.*

**Good Golly, we're almost at the end! Only one chapter more to go. No art for this chapter either, but I did write a fairly lengthy Kyoru first-time sex scene that made my sister say "squee" and that was pretty fun. Chapter 8 up next Friday! -JS**

**PPS: If it wasn't obvious, yes, I kind of ship Hatori/Ayame. Don't get me wrong- I really like Hatori/Mayu and Ayame/Mine, but I feel like there's a little something there.**


	8. The Riceball in a Fruits Basket

The Riceball in a Fruits Basket

January 4 2000

**Potential:** Capable of being but not yet there

**Warnings: **fkfkfkf

*.*

Good things come in small packages. Great things come with love in their eyes and gifts in their hands. Tohru Honda, the girl with a boy's name, was a person Hatori Sohma couldn't quite figure out. Who _was _this child?

Shigure said she came from the woods, just as they all had long ago. But then, Shigure always was an overdramatic idiot.

Everything about her existence was surreal. Did she bring out the best in everyone, or did they change themselves for the pleasure of seeing her smile?

She wasn't beautiful, or smart, or talented. She couldn't carry a tune or run particularly fast or learn by instincts alone. Compared to his family, she couldn't possibly be any more plain. But she had to have a certain sort of magic about her.

"Seems like you've got quite the youth hostel going on," he said to Shigure after one of his regular 'meetings' with Akito. Meetings that sometimes lasted entire afternoons and left the dog reeking of musk and moonflowers. "Three teenagers? I recall you once told me that you weren't cut out to be a parent."

"Oh," Shigure laughed. His voice was always slightly deeper after said meetings as well. It was more than a little distracting. "No, they're pretty good kids. They take care of themselves for the most part." From his pocket he pulled a pack of cigarettes, one of which he removed to slip between his lips. He angled his face to the doctor and waited until, sighing, Hatori pulled out a lighter and held it to the end.

"_Merci beaucoup_."

"You sure a group of highschoolers should be allowed to 'take care of themselves'?" he asked suspiciously.

"Hey," Shigure smiled, curls of smoke emitting through his teeth until it looked like he was the real dragon. "We did, and we turned out alright, eh Tori?"

Hatori snorted. "I can see _you_ think so, Jellyfish. If you'll excuse me, I have an eleven-year-old with a broken arm to take care of." He started to leave and Shigure, without looking around, reached behind his head to tug on a lock of Hatori's overgrown hair; an affectionate, if dismissive, gesture.

Hatori hadn't been lying. Kisa had seemed too uncomfortable with traditional hospitals, and so he'd set up a spare bed in Momiji's home. The rabbit would never object to company, and she seemed fond of her energetic cousin.

"Momiji?" he called when he pushed the door open. He heard a slight scuffle in the next room over, and a very faint "shh."

The bed in the main room was empty, sheets ruffled. He'd told Kisa to take it easy. "Momiji, where is Kisa?"

He crossed into the rabbit's bedroom, where the curtains bulged suspiciously. He waited, with an eyebrow raised.

"Roar!" the familiar head of blonde hair was launched at him, and he found himself with an armful of teenager. "Did we scare you?" he asked, laughing. "Get him, Kisa!"

He looked over the boy in his arms to see Kisa, blushing shyly, reach for his sleeve with her good arm. Her lips moved, mouthing a silent 'roar'. If it weren't for the rainbow of bruises marring her face and upper body, it might have been cute.

"Momiji, Kisa's supposed to be _resting_. Do you want me to move her to my house?"

"You're so _boring_, Ha'ri!" the rabbit whined. "And she was tired of being in bed! She wanted to play. Right Kisa?"

She didn't look at either of them, but she gave a short nod.

"She misses Hiro," Momiji whispered in Hatori's ear. "He hasn't come by to see her once. She's sad…"

Hatori set Momiji down on the ground. "Well, dinner should be delivered soon. Do you… want to play a game, Kisa?"

She blinked in surprise at this, and pointed to Hatori.

"Yes, I'll play, too," he agreed. Her amber eyes disappeared in a lovely smile- that fell after only a second. She let out a small moue at the pain smiling caused her abused face. Momiji didn't hesitate to run to her side, although he was very gentle when he wrapped his skinny arms around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and leaned into the older boy's embrace, trying not to let small tears show.

"Momiji," Hatori cleared his throat. "Why don't you go choose a game?"

The rabbit saluted them both and headed over to his closet, standing on tiptoe to reach the top shelf, filled with books and toys. The room was very suited to his half-German relative; all wide windows and open, light-filled space. All of his belongings were jumbo-sized, soft, and childish; a bedroom for a much younger person than the soon-to-be highschooler. Kisa was admiring a yellow, floppy-eared rabbit toy on the nearby shelf, so Hatori handed it to her.

"How's it feeling today?" he asked, unhooking the sling around her shoulder to examine the cast itself, which was covered with various bright doodles. "Soon you can have the cast off, though you should probably wait for the bruises to fade before going back to school…"

At the mention of school, the tiger's eyes flew wide and she shook her head, paling. "Oh, hey now," he protested. "That won't be for a while, we don't have to talk about it yet."

She reached out to him, a curious expression on her battered face, and he froze. Her hand touched his forehead, then slipped under his hair, gently tucking it aside behind his ear.

It had become his natural instinct to move away whenever anybody tried that, but he held very still for her. He understood why the family rumors would be of special interest after what had happened to her.

She gasped when she saw the nasty scar tissue that crisscrossed over his eye, swelling it partially shut. The pupil was perpetually enormous and very sensitive to light, so damaged by the attack it had suffered years ago that he preferred to cover it entirely. The most he could make of her face with that eye was a yellow-orange blur. Kisa's hand slipped to his cheek and for a moment she held him tenderly, sorrowfully. _Sweet child_.

"Hey," he said again. "It's not so bad." He loosed his hair so that the ugly spectacle was covered once more. "Just part of being a Sohma. It's the burden we have to bear."

A rattling box was shoved in his face. "How 'bout this game?" Momiji asked excitedly. It looked to be a child's board game, decorated with bug-eyed cartoon fruit in colors no fruit should ever grow in. Kisa's lips quirked in a less-painful smile, though the sore on her lip tore a bit.

Momiji dragged a small table over for them to sit around and began to spout the rules. Still holding the floppy-eared rabbit toy, Kisa shyly reached over to take her doctor's hand, and then Momiji's as well.

_This is my family_, Hatori thought suddenly. His cheek still felt warm where she'd held it in empathy and compassion. _I may not be able to do anything to protect them, not yet. But I'll be damned if I let them go through hell alone; I'm in this for the long haul._

He thought of Tohru, with her shy smiles and gentle words, holding onto Yuki and Kyo as if afraid letting go would cause them to drift to sea. It worried him, for more reasons than he could count.

***.***

Hatori was, at his core, a person who worried quite a lot.

He worried for Isuzu, whose weight had dropped to dangerous levels after her third escape from the hospital. He worried for Akito, who seemed to become sicker and sicker as the days wore on, poisoned inside and out from stress and anxiety. He worried quite a lot for Ayame, whose burgeoning relationship with his assistant put him at perpetual risk. He even worried for Shigure, although he hoped the mutt would never know just how much.

Momiji was the only one who was around him enough to see through the facade. The boy's natural kindness gave off a warm, candle-like glow, and he helped stabilize the stoic doctor. Hatori worried for him most of all.

And that was why... that was exactly why...

"I don't want you spending so much time with Tohru and the boys," he told the rabbit one day as the two sat together; Momiji with his end-of-term homework and Hatori with several medical texts spread before him.

The teen's perpetual smile faded and he blinked large, melted-chocolate eyes at his unofficial guardian. "What do you mean, Ha'ri?" he asked uncertainly. "Tohru and Yuki and Kyo are my friends."

"They're nothing but trouble. Can't you feel the storm brewing from Akito every time they're brought up?" _Whenever the explosion occurs, I want you far away from the blast._

Momiji scowled and crossed his arms. "_No_, Ha'ri."

The dragon blinked. "What's that?" he asked. Momiji was rarely disobedient. Energetic and wild, always, but out-and-out refusing an order?

"I said no. You can't make me stop seeing my friends."

"Be friends with someone else! You have Hatsuharu, correct? And don't you play with Kagura sometimes? And the younger children..."

The rabbit was stubbornly shaking his head. "I love my friends," he told Hatori. "_All _of them. It's not fair to ask me-"

"Our life isn't fair, Momiji!" Hatori growled. "Nothing is _fair_. Stay with your own kind and don't get caught up in the mix."

He realized he'd gone too far when he noticed the sheen of tears wavering in Momiji's eyes. The rabbit stormed away from him, abandoning his homework entirely. A moment later his bedroom door slammed and Hatori heard the first few notes of a familiar violin song filter through the house.

The next day Momiji changed his high school from the prestigious boy's academy most male Sohmas attended to the unremarkable coed school Tohru and the others attended. Hatori didn't hear about it until Hatsuharu informed him at their middle school graduation.

And then he worried some more.

It seemed he was right to worry when, several months later, the first blast shook the family.

He broke out into a cold sweat when he saw, standing in the rain, Momiji with his arms outstretched before the frightened Tohru.

He was so... _small_. Just a small boy with a child's face and the faraway eyes of an old man. He was shaking and crying, clearly terrified. Hatori imagined the prey spirit inside begging him: run, hide.

And yet he stood his ground: a tiny rabbit refusing its God, realizing its impending doom and refusing to yield just the same.

Because he had somebody to protect.

Hatori let out a low moan when Akito's fist slammed, hard, into Momiji's face, sending him sprawling. His entire body shook, conflicted, and his mind filled with his long-lost love.

_I couldn't save her. And I can't... save him, either_.

Nearby in their summerhouse, Kyo let out a snarl, storming for the door. Hatsuharu caught him by the elbow and Hatori braced himself, waiting for a fight… but there was none. Kyo sagged limply in his grip, just as powerless against their God as Hatori was. It seemed, just then, only Momiji had any fight left within him. And then that, too, fled.

Scrambling to his feet, Momiji made a dash back to them, back to the safety of the summer house, leaving Tohru behind.

He burst through the door, wet with rain and mud and with his own tears.

"Ha'ri..." the rabbit said, burying his face in Hatori's chest. "Ha'ri, _do_ something..."

Hatori looked at Shigure over the curly mess of cherubic blonde hair. The dog lowered his head, looking troubled. There was nothing to be done.

Hatori drew the blinds shut and forced himself to turn away from the frightened teenage girl and the vengeful God. He couldn't save her; he couldn't even watch.

Momiji wailed, openly and unabashedly as a newborn, like his heart had been torn straight from his chest. Hatori knew the sound well.

"I couldn't... I couldn't _help _her. I couldn't do _anything_."

But that was wrong. For just a hint of a second, the meek rabbit had displayed more strength than any of them. He had done what they couldn't, if just for that one moment. He had, however briefly, resisted.

They all cringed when they heard Tohru's low groan of pain on just the other side of the window, and Kyo snarled again. Hatori stroked through Momiji's wet curls as the group waited out the storm.

Would she even survive the night?

Finally, the raging God's presence began to fade; the storm had ceased. Squirming from Hatori's arms, Momiji was the first to hurry outside, great fear in his eyes for what he might find.

"Tohru!" he sobbed, in self-hatred and relief, and he flung himself into her arms.

Even from this distance Hatori could see the blood, almost cartoonishly red, dribbling from the shell-shocked girl's face to mingle in the mud she sat in.

A second later Tohru was hugging a soggy rabbit, which she clung to her chest and rocked, blood seeping into the thick fur of his back.

"Didn't you feel it?" Shigure asked, voice low and close to his ear. "Just then. You had to have felt it."

"I didn't feel anything," Hatori snapped, but they both knew he was lying. They'd all felt it that night, whether they recognized it for what it was or not: the hateful, terrible, _beautiful _chain that bound them had, just for a moment, begun to weaken.

Shigure's face looked more intrigued than ever. Hatori couldn't often guess the dog's thoughts, but tonight they were transparent: _what can I do to make that happen again?_

They both looked at the injured teenager for a moment, and Hatori knew with a certainty that she was far from safe.

It took a while to get her back into the summer house; Shigure made an ice pack for Momiji's cheek, and Hatori brought Tohru into the bathroom, running hot water over a clean cloth to wipe down her skin. She still looked very pale.

"I'm sorry," he said when she winced at the sting of rubbing alcohol.

"It's not your fault," she replied quietly.

It was. His and Shigure's and Kureno's. They were the available adults, right? Was it not their job to protect children?

"Do you remember what I told you last winter?" he asked, setting to work bandaging her cheek. He hoped it wouldn't scar. "How this family is corrupt? The advice still stands; get out before this happens again. We _cannot keep you safe_, much as we want to."

She reached for the bathtub handle and turned it on, filling it with clean water. Though her face was averted from his, he could see something there that hadn't been present before. Something hard and unyielding: determination. She'd changed in the past hour, right before his very eyes.

"Don't worry about me," she said, already slipping out of her muddy shoes. Her normally mild brown eyes met his in the semi-dark bathroom, and he couldn't miss the fire that was starting to blaze there. "I'm with you, Hatori. You and all the others. We're in this together."

He wanted to grab her by her skinny shoulders, shake her until her head flopped. Put his face to hers and scream. _There is no helping us. We are the lost ones. You're free. Run as fast as you can. _Stupid _girl!_

She continued to meet his eyes. "I want to stay with you. I've grown to love you all so much. We've become friends, right, Hatori?"

There was a great void inside him, an empty, motherless place. One he sealed over with brick and mortar and ice. _I'm the adult. I'm the strong one. I'm the smart one_.

_We'll crush you_, he knew. _The weight of our broken hearts, the sharp edges of glass and scars. You can't possibly shoulder this. Not with such tiny hands._

But she was already using her tiny hand to hold his. For a moment, he had a great urge to bury his face in her soft brown hair and give her everything, every burden he carried. _Such kind eyes..._

He stood up quickly. Everybody else had used her to carry their sorrows. He couldn't- wouldn't!- add his own weight to the pile. Not any more than he already had.

"Take your bath," he said sharply. "I'll make you some tea."

Momiji was waiting for him in the kitchen, the cold compress held to his already darkened and swelling face. A black bruise was sure to mar his cheek and jaw by morning; he'd have to cover it with a bandage. Hatori moved to the stove and put the kettle on, and the rabbit moved to rest his forehead on Hatori's back.

"I love her," Momiji said into the folds of his shirt.

_I know_, Hatori thought.

*.*

It was a day like any other when it happened.

It wasn't big. It wasn't dramatic. In fact, he'd been heading across the Sohma estate with a briefcase and several photocopies in his arms, mundane as Tuesday.

_Not with a bang, but a whimper_... he thought suddenly, as a soft, warm feeling overcame him. It was as if something were being drawn from his body, carefully and gently, phasing through him and coming out... he didn't _know _where.

When the feeling passed, he sank to the ground, his shaking legs unable to support his body just then. He felt so _dull _inside, so empty... never before had he felt so alone.

It wasn't a bad feeling, he'd recall later. Just different, and perhaps a little frightening. He couldn't stop the tears that overcame him.

_Thank you_, a quiet, strange and yet familiar voice whispered on the wind. _Thank you, and goodbye. _He glanced up at the sky. Had it always been so blue?

There was a crunch of gravel. He didn't need to look up to recognize the scent and sounds of Shigure. A hand clasped his shoulder, and the man sat down beside his cousin, once-lover, once-cursed friend.

"So," Shigure said, leaning back on his elbows to look up at the sky with the dragon.

"So," Hatori agreed.

"Strange, isn't it?" Shigure laughed a little, quietly. "Little bit scary; not gonna lie."

"I guess."

_Is this what it's like to be a normal person_?

"What are you gonna do now that you're a free man, Tori?" Shigure asked. Hatori thought of Mayu, of her smiling face, of how over the past few weeks they'd become tentative companions for lunch on sunny days. _I could hold her_, he thought, dazed by the possibility. _If I wanted... or if she... _the world suddenly seemed very large. He wondered if he should put his head between his knees.

"Guess we'd better go see Aya," He finally replied.

"Oh, Tori, dense as ever." Shigure patted his cheek affectionately. "I'm pretty sure Aya and Mine don't want to be bothered right now of all times, if you know what I mean." He gave a cheeky wink. "Why don't we set up plans for later? I, for one, have somebody I need to go see. Don't you, Tori?"

Hatori blinked at the dog, who rolled his eyes. "I thought we agreed on being less dense! Bad tempered, past her prime, teacher..." he held his arm just shy of 180 centimeters. "Bout this tall?"

"She'd smack you if she heard you say that. And we're just friends."

Shigure rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh. Go see your 'friend', then." he nudged Hatori in the backside with his shoe. "You can't sit here and mope all day, Tori; life is short."

"Why should I go see her?" Hatori groused, but allowed the ex-dog to push him to his feet.

"Because you _can_, Hatori."

"But the kids!" Hatori protested. "Yuki, and Momiji, and..."

"They don't want a grumpy old man killing their buzz!" Shigure's energy was infectious. "We'll see them later. You're just _afraid_, Tori. Go be alive!"

_Well, when he put it that way... _He glanced over his shoulder at Shigure and grinned, then made his way to the parking lot, where his car awaited him. He felt so out of it that he barely noticed any of the long drive to the school where most of his younger family members still attended.

He waited until the bell rang and students began filing from the building before slipping in. Shigure wouldn't have- Shigure would probably have barged right in and had his tongue halfway down her esophagus before she could say "bug off." But then, Shigure _was _an idiot.

_I'm dense, and he's an idiot, and Aya's a fool_, Hatori thought rather drily. _What a fine trio we make_. He patted his sweating hands on his trousers.

She was cleaning off the blackboard when he entered the classroom. She'd taken off her blouse, which rested on the chair behind her, and stood in an undershirt and slacks with her bare shoulders looking slightly tacky from the summer humidity. His throat went dry on seeing her.

"Mayu?" he called. She dropped her eraser in surprise.

"Hatori, what are you doing here?" she asked. Approaching him, she took in the expression on his face, his slightly dusty clothes. "What's the matter?"

Sharp-eyed and perceptive as always. He brought his hand to her face and gently touched the mole under her eye. He'd always liked it; it was the exclamation point at the end of the sentence that was Mayu.

"I just knew... the school year was wrapping up. I thought you might want to have an early dinner with me to celebrate another year."

"Hatori? Something seems different with you." she cocked her head and his hand fell away. No doubt she saw that his eye had swollen slightly from crying. "Are you sure you're alright"

He thought about it for a moment, and then he smiled.

"Never better."

She smiled too. "Good. You're buying, right?"

He resisted the strong urge to ruffle her hair. "Yes, yes. And you're not having beer this time."

"We'll see about that."

As they walked back out to his car, Hatori hesitated for a moment, and then slipped an arm around her shoulders. He'd never been able to do so with a woman, not for long, not even with Kana. Her back was sturdy and very straight; he'd always admired her impeccable posture. Mayu shot him a puzzled glance.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" she asked gently. "It's alright. I think about her a lot, too. She's doing well, for your information."

Not to be outdone, her arm encircled his waist.

"I'm glad," Hatori said, "But I wasn't thinking about her. I... was thinking about now."

"Now," Mayu mused, and hummed in her throat. She opened the car door for him, bowing chivalrously before hurrying to the passenger side to let herself in. He liked everything about her, he realized, from the way she sat with her long legs to the side to the way she jutted her chin out, subconsciously making everything a challenge. He liked her scent- nothing fancy, just suncream and olive oil. He loved the way she laughed- a derisive snort that, if encouraged, could sometimes turn into a full-blown belly laugh.

_I want to make you laugh_, he thought. _I want to make you happy._

He wondered if this was what life without the curse was like. Freedom, true freedom, to let these new feelings grow. To care for someone, to know you had the strength to keep them safe.

"I'm glad you came to get me today," Mayu said. "I was feeling a bit lonely when I started to think about all my students graduating, but it's a beautiful day."

"Yes," Hatori agreed. He thought of Ayame, who'd made quite a life for himself- the hobby he loved most becoming a profitable career, spent by the side of a _person_ he loved. He thought of Shigure, who's lifelong dream had come true just that afternoon. He thought of the children, shortly about to graduate high school, and the younger ones who'd grown so much, able to live out the rest of their childhood in freedom.

Hatori offered Mayu a smile. "It certainly is."

~_Fin_~


End file.
